Desperate Measures
by Zerafall
Summary: He has: self-esteem issues, a family that thinks lower of him than the dirt their boots scuff; and last but not least, a twin sister that he is madly and irrevocably in love with. Jaune's attempt at forsaking all of these things inadvertently leads to him gaining something precious. [Warning: Incest]
1. Chapter 1

The sword's above the fireplace. The flames are casting shadows along the wall, dancing to an unknown rythytm that his eyes follow, entranced, bewitched, mesmerized.

His thoughts stray to somewhere he doesn't want it to go to: his head pounds, his heart beats, he takes a deep breath.

 _Calm down_

He releases it.

His eyes focuse back on the sword that should've been his.

But it isn't. It's Her's **,** just like everything else in this Monty-forsaken place.

It's **Her's**...

The approval, the love- the adoration...

The talent, the skill- the training...

All things he want. All things he can never have...

Just like he can never have-

 _No. Do not go there_

He feels like he's going to throw up.

He's not sure if it's due to self-disgust or sickness. He's leaning towards the former.

Maybe if he throws up the pain will go away, the clenching in his gut, the aching in his very _**soul**_.

He just wants it all to end. He wants to walk over to the sword- _**Her sword -**_ and just-

He's already walking towards the sword before his mind can register. A subconscious action of a tormented spirit, of a demented person clothed in **depression** and **depravity.**

But unlatching the sword from it's position over the fireplace and on the mantle?

That's all him.

Looking at the sword clutched in his rasping grip and seeing only a way out?

That's all **him.**

Unsheathing the sword, admiring the century-old metal that will soon go through soft flesh- his soft flesh?

That's all **_him._**

Moving his mouth into an empty smile, steeling his heart, waiting for his sweet sweet release?

Waiting for this nightmare to end?

For the dreamless sleep to take him forevermore ?

That's all _**him.**_

But thrusting his sword at his own heart, and stopping, and thinking, and _feeling?_

That's all Her.

He doesn't want to leave, not yet.

Leaving means he can't see her again. Leaving means he'll hurt her.

And that's simply _**unacceptable**_...

So he doesn't do it. Because he's scared, not of death, never of death.

He's scared of leaving her alone.

He's scared of never ever seeing her wonderful smile. Her radiant blonde hair. Her gorgeous heart-shaped face. Her breathtaking ocean eyes.

He's scared of leaving behind those jokes just between them. Those adorable blushes she does when she's embarrassed. Those pouts she does when she doesn't get what she wants. Those laughs that never fail to warm his heart and brighten his dark, dreary world.

And he drops the sword with a clatter that barely even reaches his ears, and he falls to his knees, and he hates himself for even thinking those thoughts about Her.

He bows his head and tries to cry but the tears just won't come out, because he's run out of tears to cry.

His throat is tight, way too tight, he feels like he's being suffocated.

Footsteps draw his attention- he panics.

He stands up, almost falling over because of the endless tide of emotions hitting him on every angle, his eyes dart across the room. He wants to hide!

But He's too late. He hears a gasp.

 _Nononononono- anyone but Her - please oh Monty no_

"Jaune?" She whispers in confusion: hair, messy; eyes, half lidded; lips, oh so very inviti-

 _Oh Monty he's doing it again, he's yearning for her again. He's_ _loving_ _her again. And not in the way he should. He hates himself for it_

His breath hitches. For a single terrifying moment he thinks he's drowning. Unable to say a word. Unable to think. Feeling only pure terror and something else he doesn't want to acknowledge.

Her mind catches up to what she's seeing. A blond young man- her brother: knees, shaking; eyes, wide; breath, erratic; skin, pale; mouth, agape; hair, tousled and sweaty.

Sword on the floor. Sheath discarded a few feet away.

Horror grips her. Terror fuels her outburst. But it is worry that makes her act.

"Jaune!?" She screeches in alarm, rushing over to him, and grabbing him by the shoulders.

He hates how her touch sends waves of pleasure through him.

"Hey Jeanne..." He says in a throaty voice, he hates how feeble he sounds, but he hates the sliver of lust that managed to sneak into his voice even more.

"Don't you 'Hey Jeanne' me!" Monty, she's so cute when she's angry. So _intoxicating..._

He's never drunk alcohol before, but he feels like he's drunk- drunk on _her..._

He catches himself leaning forward ever so slightly. Just to get a closer look at her worried features. Just to drink in the beauty of his twin.

Of his talented twin. Of the pride of the Arc name. Of the favored child.

Of the subject of his envy. The person he wants to be.

Of the sibling he's been there for. Of the sister that's been there for him.

Of the young woman that's captured his heart.

She's yelling now. An angry snarl on her lips. A worried gleam in her eyes. Hands raking over his shoulders, he thinks he feels blood being drawn.

But he can't hear any of it. he can't register anything except how oh so very _tempting_ she looks.

He knows it's wrong to desire the forbidden fruit. He _knows..._

But he's oh so very tired of the shame wearing him down. He's oh so very tired of suppressing his feelings.

And when he's at his weakest, when his defenses are at their lowest.

Is it really a wonder that he lets it all out?

Is it really a wonder that he embraces her frame?

Is it really a wonder that he cups her suddenly warm face into his hands?

Is it really a wonder that he looks into her wide blue eyes that mirror his own with lust in his gaze and a burning hunger in his chest?

Is it really a wonder that he pulls her flush against him, that he wants her to be as close to him as possible?

Is it really a wonder that he places a searing kiss on her lips, packed with an amalgam of dozens of emotions that he wants to convey to her?

It feels like it lasts forever. The arms she placed on his shoulders find their way around his neck. She feels herself pulling herself closer into him, grinding against him, and she moans into the kiss.

Her mind is a jumbled mess. Her cheeks are on fire. Her _entire body_ is on fire. He wants her. She wants him.

But a single though manages to reach through the blockade that is her lust fueled mind.

 _He's her brother_

She's shocked into action. She's disgusted, horrified.

But she's also burning with desire. So much desire that it make her very being hurt. It sears through her body with the heat of a thousand suns. And the only thing that can quench this...this... _heat_ , is her brother.

She's conflicted. Warring with herself.

And she doesn't know which side she wants to win.

Her need for her brother. Or her morality.

They reluctantly break apart, a string of saliva between them.

His eyes look into her's. There's so much desperation there. His features are set into a blushing lustful leer. His voice is low and throaty and he doesn't speak. He _slurs._ Like he's intoxicated, intoxicated by _her,_ the though sends a pleasant shiver through her spine.

"Jeanne...Monty, Jeanne...you're so...so beautiful... I... _love you...I need you."_

His words send a wave of heat through her frame.

The look in his eyes break her heart...he looks so broken.

She feels that if she rejects him... that if she shuns him...he'll just break down. That he'll just fall into a pit of despair.

When did her brother become so broken?

Was it the pressure? Was it because of her?

Her brother was always the subject of ridicule. All because he wasn't as talented as her.

He was seen as a spare.

A pale imitation.

A _failure._

Nobody believed in him. Except her.

Even by their parents and their other sisters.

So much so that when he somehow got into Beacon alongside her.

He wasn't met with congratulations like she was.

He was met with _ridicule._

By the very people that should've supported him through everything. By his own family.

Looking back, considering that she was the only one the didn't shun him...that believed in him...

Is it really a wonder that he grasped onto her with such desperation. That he looked at her with such _longing_ and _infatuation_?

All of this is just background thoughts however. She's too precoccupied staring into his mesmerizing eyes, so much like her own...

She's wondering why she's doesn't _want_ to deny him.

Does she have feeling for him too?

Her cheeks burn at the thought, her heart beats uncontrollably at the look of his suddenly irresistible face.

It should feel wrong to desire her own brother like this. It shold fill her with disgust: but it doesn't...

it feels so _right_...

Maybe it's because he's the only one that doesn't put her on a pedestal, that doesn't idolize her.

Maybe it's because they're so alike. Both in appearance and personality.

But she needs him too...she loves him too...

And when she faces her feelings...

The disgust is gone...the fact that he's her brother makes him all the more irresistible in fact.

And as she leaned in and huskily muttered an 'I love you' back at him, as she watches his eyes light up with unbridled joy, she wonders to herself if she's got a problem for being so crazy over her own brother.

And as he recoperates her advances with that same love-struck gaze that she's pretty sure she's wearing as well. As he kisses her with a kiss as hot as a star, as his tongue invades her mouth with a ravenous hunger rivaling any Grimm, And with a need for her that fills her with a longing warmth in her core.

She thinks that they both have that problem. Too bad it doesn't really _feel_ like a problem.

 **AN**

 **Well...that was a thing *shrugs***

 **Actually wrote this because I feel a bit sick. And as you can tell, Jaune in this fic feels horrible too, so that's where the inspiration for this came from.**

 ***whispers* And also because incest is hot...**

 ***immediately gets sent to Hell***


	2. Chapter 2

It's the week before they head off to Beacon.

He's lying down besides her, on her bed; she has the comfier one.

He's been sleeping with her- not in that way, not yet- ever since the incident that brought them together. The rest of their family think it's slightly odd; but they suspect nothing. He and Jeanne were always really close.

He feels like he hasn't had such great nights before. He feels truly comfortable when he's with her.

He sighs in contentment. Everything isn't fine; it's all far from fine. He barely even made it into Beacon, without even a proper weapon to use.

But as he gazes upon Jeanne's sleeping face, at the border-line ethereal sight of her beauty in the cover of moonlight, at the picture of true beauty.

He thinks that it could also be much worse.

He hugs her close to his body, closes his eyes, and sleeps peacefully, a happy smile on his lips.

* * *

He stares at his plain steel long sword.

It's not even close to the amazing craftsmanship of Crocea Mors; not to say it wasn't a fine sword, it would be more than enough for a Guardsman or for self defense against bandits and any other unsavory folk.

But that wasn't what he was going to use it for. He would be using it against Grimm, he's not sure if the ordinary sword would hold up against that.

He sighs, he's stressing out again. Jeanne always did make fun of him for being which a worrywart, but he can't help it; he's not a prodigy, like her, he's the exact opposite in fact, he's clumsy and uncoordinated, he's not fast, not as flexible. The only thing going for him is that he has an abnormally large amount of aura, and even then, he's only fit to be a meat shield.

He stews on all of this and more, seeds of doubt being planted in his mind, and the plants of discontent practically blooming. He's not so sure that all of this is such a great idea anymore.

Maybe he can just be a civilian, become a chef, or farmer, anything else really.

He isn't cut out to be a Huntsman; he'll just get people killed. He's useless, always has, always will be.

His hands are on his face, and his insecurities are all eating him alive. Chewing on flesh and crunching on bone.

He should've just taken that sword and-

Luckily, his sister comes to his rescue, with a surprise kiss to his neck from behind. He shivers, pulse picking up.

"Hey," she whispers in his ear, she blows on it a little too, just to spite him.

She'll be the death of him for sure, one of these days. Here lies Jaune Arc, his grave will say, died because of the sheer irresistible sexiness of his sister.

"You looked like you were stressing out again," she says, voice like soft velvet against his ear.

Of course she noticed, he thinks somewhat bitterly to himself, but also somewhat sweetly.

She's perfect in every way, unlike him, of course she would notice.

"Hey," she says again, hands on his shoulder to somewhat forcibly turn him around, facing her, with a pout that would melt nearly every heart into a shuddering pile of goo.

He knows that his did.

"Stop ignoring me," she says in indignation, cobalt eyes glaring lightly at him from behind a golden curtain.

He can't help it. It's beyond useless to resist the temptation. She's just too adorable for him to possibly stand a chance.

He kisses her, nothing but a light peck on his lips; it was a sweet and innocent kiss. She makes a sound of surprise.

It was also not enough to sate either of them; so he does it again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

And before he knows it, they're making out heatedly; he pushes her down towards the living room couch. She falls on it with a soft oomph and a giggle, before he silences her with his mouth and it turns into a moan.

In the back of his mind, he thanks the fact that the rest of their family are out right now, and he also realizes that even if they were in the room over, it probably wouldn't have stopped him anyway.

His hands go to her breasts. Not too small or big, they were perfect. She lets out a soft whimper, which only excites him more.

He grinds his groin against hers, he wonders if the intense feeling of electricity sparking in his veins is his Semblance.

Eventually he has to stop, partly because of the need for air, mostly because if he goes any further then he wouldn't be able to stop himself from going all the way.

He looks down at her from his position over her, hands at the side of her head, he's painfully aware of his throbbing erection. Judging by her flushed face then she is as well.

Her dainty hands slither over to the back of his head and she tries to pull him towards her puckered lips to continue their sinful dance once more.

Resistance in that very moment has never been more challenging.

"Jauneeee," she whines petulantly, "Get over here..."

Despite the jack hammering in his chest he finds the strength to chuckle weakly.

He leans down towards her, chest pressing against her comparatively tiny one, he's glad to note that he isn't the only one whose heart is pounding so painfully fast.

His lips are almost upon her, less than an inch away from contact. Her eyes close in preparation for the pleasure to come.

Then they shoot back open as he blows a raspberry on her larynx: he may be her lover, but he's still her twin, and he'll mess with her as such.

She laughs an unbelievably melodious sound that puts all of the music that he has ever heard and will ever hear to shame.

Jaune briefly considers how her every action causes him to love her even more.

"Meanie," she says as she smacks his arm when the laughter fell to giggles instead, smiling all the while.

"You know you love me," he grins, dropping down on the couch beside her.

"I keep you around only because of your kisses," she says in deadpan, hand moving to her mouth to attempt to hide her smile.

Monty. When they're acting like this...when they just joke around...it almost makes him forget how messed up all of this is: it's like they're just a normal couple, not a brother and sister engaged in a forbidden romance that would ruin them if anyone else ever found out, just a normal everyday couple.

"Same," he playfully mocks, pecking her cheek all the while. He enjoys how she flushes at the action.

He really is blessed to have such an adorable sister.

"Meanie," she repeats, face pressing against his shoulder, and arms going around him to pull him in as close as possible.

"You drew first blood," he reminds her helpfully as they snuggle closer.

"I'm a lady."

"Really, now?" he raises a brow condescendingly, earning him a pout. Monty, she was really bringing out the big guns in terms of cuteness today, wasn't she?

"Shut up," she grouses, "Anyway, I'm a lady, and a lady is always right."

"That's kinda sexist."

She grins cheekily, "Not when I do this," she quickly gets up, reversing their previous position, putting those countless hours of training to use as she expertly pins him with his hands held in hers, above his head; exploiting his vulnerability, she leans down to plant a searing kiss on his lips.

They stay like that for a few more minutes. And just when Jaune thinks he's about to snap and just ravage her right then and there, it ends. He feels a strange mixture of relief and disappointment.

They breathe heavily for a few moments, unable to even speak.

"Well-" Jaune begins with a weak chuckle as he feels her sit on his too-tight pants, "-I really can't argue with that."

"Damn straight," she murmurs as she presses her face to his chest.

His shoulders feel lighter now, insecurities culled for the moment. His sister really is amazing.

He wants to stay like this forever.

* * *

They're at the Bullhead station, being sent off by their family. He would prefer it if they skipped this, but Jeanne's genuinely going to miss them, and he can't bear to see her sad.

They mostly focus on her- _of course they do_ , the voice of wrath whispers from its forceful tenancy buried deep under his psyche -but they greet him off too; nothing but half-hearted hugs and cold words that belie no genuine emotion.

His hands are tightening so hard that if not for his aura, they would've left gashes.

He thinks he knows what it's like to feel hatred. But he won't ruin this for Jeanne.

After a teary farewell- from everyone but him - they enter the Bullhead along with the other initiates wanting to try their luck at Beacon.

She looks at him with sadness and concern.

Her hands touch his, and he's grateful that the electricity dispels the haze of rage diffusing in his mind. He's not even aware that he was snarling until his face sets back into a peaceful expression.

She smiles, he returns it; it was a pathetic one, but it was a smile nonetheless.

"Thanks," he says, means it too. He doesn't have to say what he's thanking her for.

"You're welcome," she flashes him a radiant smile full of so much love. His heart skips a beat, and he'd be damned for lying if he said that it didn't do that every time she did one of her smiles.

The Bullhead lifts off after a few more minutes of loitering around and smiling at each other like love struck idiots, which they are.

Beacon won't be so bad; not with her by his side.

 **AN**

 **Soooooo...this was a thing, just wanted to write this because of a sudden and unexpected desire to see some 'Arcest'. You might notice that Jaune in this story is bit more screwed up than canon-Jaune; it's a consequence of living up in a household that was extremely cold to him, he's not a psychopath (not unless someone messes with _his_ Jeanne) or anything drastic like that, but he will be a lot more morally grey in this story than in canon. Jeanne will be a sort of 'anchor' for him. I guess you could say that this Jaune is a bit of a Yandere?**


	3. Chapter 3

The putrid taste of bile rises from the depths of his gullet and almost wets his tongue. He grimaces, then clamps his mouth shut again after a second thought; no need to give the vomit an easier time of seeing daylight, after all.

It isn't as bad as it could be though, the comforting presence of his sister assuages most of his queasiness: they're seated together, with his head on her lap, and her hand running through his unkempt blonde locks, an amused smile (he would be paying her back for that, later) on her gorgeous face.

He can feel the eyes of a few Beacon initiates on them, they avert them after a cursory glance, amused smiles on their faces, noting their uncanny similarity to each other and seeing only a girl tending to her motion-sick brother. He hopes they never find the truth.

He grimaces again; he doesn't clamp his mouth shut again, though; his avenue of thought leading to somewhere far too troubling to even think of any other subject.

They'll have to hide their relationship from everybody else, he realizes.

It isn't really something he's ever dwelled upon before, too caught up in the utter happiness and joy that tempers his every step these days.

Their relationship is far from a sibling bond. It's something infinitely more powerful and profound; people will ostracize them because of that. People always shun that which they cannot understand; just look at the Faunus.

It's not something that he really cares about; people can hate him all they want, he doesn't give a damn what they think. The only person whose opinion he cares for is Jeanne.

But therein lays the problem. Jeanne will care.

Oh sure, she'll play demure and pretend she doesn't, hide the pain in between the kisses, the agony behind the affection. But the cold hard truth of the matter is that she would be affected by the mutterings behind her back and the disgust upon their faces. Because she _cares_ , not like him.

An unbelievably soft hand caresses his cheek, and he's thankful for the derailment of his dark train of thought. He turns his head to gaze at his Jeanne, a disapproving expression on her face.

He grins sheepishly, although the nausea makes it to be far more unpleasant than it would otherwise.

"Honestly," she shakes her head, "if I leave you alone for a few minutes, you always flick your emo switch on."

The great offense he felt must've shown on his face, because she suddenly burst out laughing, and the sound resonates like tinkling bells.

Despite his desires towards the contrary; he still lets out a smile. Damn it, this was supposed to be his brooding time!

He says that, but in reality, he doesn't mind it all that much. He can always contemplate later, but for now, he'd rather spend time with Jeanne.

He snuggles closer to her, wrapping an arm around her abdomen; it's somewhat of an awkward position, but softness of her skin and the elation of being closer to his beloved annuls that.

"What am I? A teddy bear?" She says, even as she uses the other hand not stroking his hair to grasp one of his in a hold that feels more like home than their house ever could.

Eventually, the rocking of the Bullhead and the warmth of his most precious person starts soothing him to slumber.

He yawns: feeling slumber dawning on him, even with the headache clogging his mind.

Jeanne smiles softly, "Go to sleep, Jaune," she coos softly in his ear, "I'll wake you up when we get to Beacon."

"Kay," he mumbles, barely even cognitive - trusting her without even a second thought.

She looks around, checking to see if anyone had their eyes on them, after confirming that no one did, she pecks him on the lips- he's a little surprised, considering his rather...volatile state- it was risky, somewhat stupid, considering the location-

It was electrifying. A usually surging shock, reduced to more subdued but still uniquely pleasurable buzz.

"Go to sleep, sleepyhead," she says, before she starts whispering a soothing melody to his ears.

And he does so, with the last thing he sees being her caring visage looking to him adoringly, he wonders blearily if she's an angel. He succumbs completely to the call of slumber, with a content smile on his face.

Let the worrying be for tomorrow.

* * *

Jeanne watches her brother for a few more minutes. She reflects on everything that's happened.

This relationship is a bad idea, she thinks, even as she lovingly tousles her snoozing brother's shaggy blonde mane. She should stop it, before it gets too out of hand, reason advises her, even as she feels the overwhelming urge to kiss her lover's handsome face silly.

Reason makes a few good points: she wants to be a hero, wants to restore the Arc name to what it once was, how could she do that if their secret was found out? They'd be known as deviants, hedonists, degenerates; not exactly the image she wants to convey. What if the rest of their family find out? They'd be disowned, no doubt. As much as Jeanne loves her family, she knows that it would be something they would do. Anything to preserve the Arc name.

It lists out a dozen more things wrong with her relationship with her brother. But even as it screams, and hollers, and begs for her to see reason; she finds it damnably easy to ignore it all.

Does that make her a bad person, she wonders? She's not sure.

It's not like she's not somewhat uneasy about all of this; but in her heart of hearts, she knows that she wants this, more than anything she's ever wanted before

Jaune reflexively hugs her closer in his sleep, mumbling some nonsense about this nerdy and ridiculously named comic called 'X-day and Grav' or something.

Jeanne smiles a little, leans down and mutters a teasing 'nerd' in the ear of her still comatose brother.

Becoming a hero, like the ones sung about in the legends had always been her ultimate goal; for as long as she cares to remember. She had broken and rebuilt her body countless times, and like a well forged blade, came out all the sharper because of it. She boggles at how pointless it feels now. Her goal's been replaced with a new one: live a happy life with Jaune.

She's not upset about it, though.

But, she contemplates with a frown; there _is_ something that she's upset about.

It's Jaune himself.

Don't get her wrong, she loves her brother more than life itself, more than anything.

It's just that, Jeanne closes her eyes; he tried to _kill himself_ for Oum's sake- with her sword! - And she doesn't know how to confront him about it.

He's just been so unbelievably happy and content lately that she fears that breaching the subject with him would undo everything in an instant; it's irrational, she knows, but the fear has been staying her hand.

He had been in a rut, the last few months, before that fateful incident that brought them together, he had been growing distant from her, it had distressed her to no end, thinking that Jaune was trying to hold her at the same length as the rest of their family; she had tried to bridge the gap, but every action seemed only to push him farther away.

She had spent many a sleepless nights agonizing over their distance; she had loved him as not just a brother, but also a lover, even back then.

A failed attempt at sleeping, prompting her to head to the kitchen for a glass of water had lead to a terrifying sight; she remembers it clear as day, probably always will.

She doesn't know all the details. Doesn't know if the constant ostracization by their family- and as much as she loves them, she will always begrudge them for that- lead him off the deep end, or perhaps she was the cause, perhaps the way that she constantly overshadowed, perhaps always being compared to her, being seen as just a pale 'spare' had caused his attempted suicide, perhaps it was his feelings for her, and the confusion and guilt that tailed it, perhaps it was all of those things, perhaps it was none. She does not know.

She does know one thing, though.

He's not okay.

Jaune isn't just in love with her, he's _obsessed_ with her. Perhaps it's always been there, the terrifying devotion in his eyes that- despite her best efforts makes her heart nearly beat out of her chest -, the possessiveness he clings to her with, and the skewed perspective he has of the world.

She's terrified of the amount of power she has over him, and concerned over Jaune's anti-social behavior. She hopes that he will form other connections at Beacon, but as much as she loves her brother, she has to admit that he possesses horrible social skill.

She spends the entire Bullhead ride in a state of deep contemplation, and before she knows it, they had landed. The feeling of the Bullhead landing, embarrassingly, made her jump slightly; the sudden motion makes Jaune pull her even closer to himself. He's practically spooning her at this point.

Her face colors slightly, and the color deepens when she hears a few subdued snickers, it appears that they had a few initiates eyeing them out of boredom; as a consequence, kissing him awake was out of options then, drat!

Oh well, she'd just have to settle with how she used to wake him up when they were kids.

Her eyes gains the blazing satisfaction of a woman about to achieve vengeance, she pulls him away from her slightly, a little difficult considering the armor that he was wearing, but she manages it, leans in until she's close enough to initiate her malevolent scheme.

She's directly parallel to his delicate larynx; the smooth flesh looks incredibly tantalizing. She can't help herself any longer, she opens her mouth - a flash of white and red and-!

She blows a raspberry right on his throat. Revenge is sweet, she thinks sadistically.

Jaune's arms flailing about herald the startled laughter like thunder before lightning, and just like lightning it flashes briefly, illuminating the fact that while things were new, dangerous, and confusing; they were also marvelous and fulfilling.

Beacon is a new start, and Jeanne promised to herself in that instant of flailing arms and non-vitriolic cursing and carefree joy that it would be a better one for Jaune.

* * *

Beacon is incredible, he hadn't gotten a glimpse of it because he was asleep but as he stepped out of the Bullhead with his sister, it was this fact that immediately goes to the forefront of his mind.

It is styled in the fashion of a castle, but with a more technically advanced touch, a sort of combination of the past and present, gigantic spires sat upon its walls, and a particularly huge one stood at the middle of the building itself. If he had to choose one word to describe it, 'opulent' would be the first thing to come to mind.

"Wow," Jaune breathes out, eyes wide. Many other initiates are in a similar state of shock.

The sight is intimidating. This is Beacon, thought they; chest bloating with anxiety, where many great Hunters come in green and go out heroes sung about in legends, the same is expected of them. It's a crushing weight to feel, almost too heavy to carry.

But there is also a sense of hope, this is what they have been working towards, their end goal, if they succeed here then they would truly deserve to call themselves Hunters.

A crack of a riding crop snaps them out of their awed reverie.

They eyes turn to the source of the sound, a woman who looks to be in her mid-twenties, but appearances are never a good indicator of a Hunter's age, aura removes all imperfections, a sort of all purpose beauty tool.

"Greetings," she says in a carefully measured and stern voice.

"I am Glynda Goodwitch, your combat instructor, if you pass, that is. Welcome to the Beacon Academy for Hunters. Follow me to the auditorium, please."

Straight and to the point, blunt as well. She seems respectable enough, if a little uptight.

She turns around and walks off somewhere; most of the initiates follow, but some decide to remain and continue drinking in the sites. He and his sister are of the latter group.

"This place is awesome!" Jeanne exclaims, looking around everywhere excitedly.

He chuckles at her excitement, finding it utterly adorable, he mercilessly ruffles her hair.

"You sound like a really hyped up puppy," he jeers, she glares at him, but it loses most of the bite because her hair is still getting ruffled.

"Now you look like an angry puppy."

She adorably growls, then pounces him, wrapping her arms around him and almost causing him to topple over, his sister is nearly his match in height and momentum made falling on his rear a very real possibility.

"Whoa! Alright, alright, sheesh. You're not a puppy anymore."

She nods in satisfaction, still pouting. It was practically impossible to not want to tease her further.

"You're a _really_ angry and _really_ cute puppy."

Just as she looked like she was thinking of biting him- not that he minded- in retaliation to his smart remarks, they hear an explosion a little distance away, the air instantly turns from playful to serious.

He glances at her, she nods.

And they sprint to the site of the explosion, drawing their weapons along the ways, prepared to combat whatever threat they may face. His heartbeat is almost audible, and he resolves to protect Jeanne, no matter what.

They expect a lot of things, when they've reached their destination; perhaps a terrorist attack, initiated by the increasingly-bold White Fang; instead they find a white-haired girl, reprimanding another, shorter girl clad in red who was sitting in a crater. It's as much of a relief as it is a disappointment.

"You're such a dolt!" the white haired girl screeches, almost looking like she would be frothing at the mouth any second now. They sheathe their weapons and look on curiously at the arguement.

"I said I was sorry!" the girl clad in red protests defensively.

Their byplay goes on for quite some time, and just when it seems like they would be physically coming to blows; a black haired girl wearing a bow - out of nowhere - comes into the scene.

"Do you even know who I am?!" the white haired girl says, throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation.

"I dunno princess," the red-clad said with a growl that failed catastrophically at being intimidating, "Why don't you tell me."

The girl wearing a bow- previously unnoticed by the arguing pair -suddenly spoke up, "It's heiress, actually. Weiss Schnee, heiress of the Schnee Dust Company."

The newly named Weiss Schnee preens, "Finally, some recogni-!"

"The heiress to the very same company infamous for its controversial labor laws regarding Faunus workers," the girl with the bow interrupts her, a measure of vindictiveness in her voice.

Weiss expression sours, "How dare yo-!"

"How dare I!?" The girl with the bow growls, in a much more intimidating manner than the girl clad in red, "How dare YOU. Do you have any idea how many Faunus slave away at your mines for minimal pay?"

Weiss opens her mouth to make a vitriolic comment, but before she could find her voice; Blake suddenly leaves the scene, her piece said.

Weiss clenches her teeth, turns towards her luggage and leaves as well; ignoring the red-clad girl she leaves behind.

The red-clad girl groans and lies down on the crater, muttering a despondent, "Welcome to Beacon..."

The twins glanced at each other, not really sure what to say.

"Wew" says Jaune in amusement, "That was better than your soap operas."

Jeanne snorts and swats him on the arm; she then points to the despondent girl lying in a crater, "Think we should help her?"

He thinks on it for a second. On one hand, helping the girl out would cut into his alone-time with Jeanne; on the other hand, she really looks like she wants to help the poor girl out, and he kind of does too.

He sighs, "Might as well."

Jeanne beams at him, "Great," she tugs at his sleeve as she walks towards the girl, "let's go."

"Yeah, yeah," Jaune grumbles, following behind her.

* * *

Today Sucks. Yes; it didn't just suck, it Sucks, with a capital S.

First, she gets left behind by Yang in one of her annoying attempts at getting her to socialize more; then she bumps into a crabby girl and gets a tongue-lashing as a result of an honest mistake. What a splendid start, she thinks sarcastically.

She sighs; and then gets startled as she hears someone clear their voice.

She opens her eyes. Blonde hair, blue eyes, long sleeved shirt, jeans, breastplate, shoulder guards, gloves, sword sheathed at waist, at first glance they look the same; a second glance and she notices some major differences: one has longer hair, a small but noticeable bump in the front of her chest, a shorter height and a more feminine face, a different sword. They must be twins.

"Uh," one of them- the girl -begins, somewhat uncomfortably, "are you alright?"

She tries to tilt her head in confusion, but her cheek hits ground, her eyes widen. She's still lying down, in the middle of the courtyard, no less. She must look like a complete idiot!

She gets up quickly, face burning. This is why she hates social interaction.

"YES!" She winces at her volume, and winces even further at the uncertain expressions on the twins' faces.

Silence reigned for a minute, both partiers unsure about how to proceed. Ruby's mind race with things to say, creating and discarding ideas with a prodigious speed. Her heart is beating a mile a minute, her legs feel weak. She swallows, and the spit does not go down easy.

Finally, after what seemes like an eternity of silence, a second before she is prepared to use her semblance to escape the extremely awkward encounter, the girl speaks up.

"Hey. I'm Jeanne Arc, and this is my twin brother-!"

"Older twin brother," the boy corrects her, he gets a playful bonk to the head for his trouble. Ruby giggles a little, charmed by their sibling dynamic. It reminds her of herself and Yang

"Shut it, you. Anyway, this idiot here," Jaune looks like he's going to retort but a glare from Jeanne takes the wind out of his sails, "is Jaune Arc."

Okay Ruby, keep calm. Breathe in. Breathe out. This situation can still be salvaged. These two seem cool, unlike the crabby girl from before.

"My name's Ruby Rose," she says in a hopefully enthusiastic tone, with a hopefully genuine-seeming smile on her face, "It's nice to meet you."

"Likewise," Jeanne says, returning her smile. Score! And Yang said that she couldn't make friends, preposterous. She just preferred tinkering with weapons, that's all.

"So," Jeanne begins, "What was with that girl earlier?"

And just like that, all of the enthusiasm leaves her.

Ruby slumps down, a veritable aura of gloom covering her like some sort of storm cloud, "I accidentally bumped into her luggage earlier, and now she hates me."

She, of course leaves out the part where her dust-infused sneeze caused a small explosion; but that is a small and uninteresting detail.

"What about the explosion?" The relatively silent Jaune questions her curiously.

"What explosion?" She says innocently.

The twins stare at the crater she was previously laying down on in deadpan.

She gulps, "I stand by my statement."

The twins just chuckle and shake their heads - a strangely synchronized action; must be a twin thing, she figures. She laughs along after a moment, realizing how outlandish the whole situation was, now that she looks backs at it.

"Wanna walk with us?" Offers Jeanne, smiling at her.

"Sure," Ruby chirps happily. Her luck is really turning for the better!

* * *

Ruby and the twins walk Beacon's courtyard without much direction, taking in the sights and conversing amongst themselves.

The twins are holding hands; weird, but Ruby just brushes it off as them being especially close.

"Ruby, mind if I ask you a question?"

"Shoot," Ruby says, turning her head to face Jeanne.

"You seem a bit younger than us. How old are you exactly?"

"I'm fifteen."

They stop walking, staring at her with surprise; she stops with them, confused.

"Wow," Jeanne says, eyed wide; Jaune looks equally impressed.

Ruby just wrings s her hands together, kicking at the ground in a sheepish manner, a blush of embarrassment on her face.

"It's not that impressive, is it?" she asks.

"Ruby," Jaune says in a deadpan voice, "At fifteen - a whole two years behind the normal age of attendance; you got into one of the best Hunter schools in all of Remnant, a school which only accepts the best of the best. If you don't think that's impressive, then I don't know what to tell you."

Jeanne nods her head in agreement, looking at her in a new light.

Ruby's blush just intensifies even further. She has to change the subject somehow; she's just a normal girl with normal knees!

Her eyes are suddenly drawn to their weapons, and an idea forms.

She grabs her magnum opus, Crescent Rose, from behind her cloak, brandishes it, and expands it into scythe form with the ease of a person who has done the motion thousands of times before.

Jaune and Jeanne jump backwards, eyes wide and alarmed.

Oops. On second thought, conjuring a menacing scythe out of nowhere isn't really a polite to do in a normal conversation.

"Anyway," she powers through, "This is my baby."

"That's a...scythe?" Jeanne questions, eyes roving along the weapon, noting the obvious affection that went towards its creation, "Wait. Your baby, you made that thing?"

"Yep," she says, caressing the weapon lovingly, "All students in Signal Academy are required to make their own weapons."

"We know," Jaune says, nodding towards the scythe, "but they're not usually this well-made."

"My uncle, Qrow, he helped lots; but it was mostly me," she says with pride.

"So what can it do," inquires Jeanne curiously, eager to see what such a fearsome looking weapon can do.

"Well," Ruby points towards the end of the scythe, where the barrel of the sniper-rifle was located, "In laymen's terms, it's a combination of a scythe and a high-caliber sniper rifle. I use the recoil from the sniper power to increase my speed in a fight," She transforms the weapon into its sniper form, "I can also transform it into a pure sniper rifle if I want to fight solely at range."

Jeanne gave an impressed whistle, "You must be one hell of a demon in a fight. Wanna spar with me later on?"

Yes! Something she is actually good at.

"That'd be great," she says happily.

"What about your weapons?" she asks, eyes drawn once more to the swords sheathed on their hips.

Jeanne smiles a little sheepishly and unsheathes her blade, the metal gleams majestically in the sunlight, "It's called Crocea Mors, and it's been in my family for generations," she says with pride, "It's not as flashy as your weapon; but it gets the job done.

Ruby's eyes greedily devoured all the details of the ancient weapon, noting its masterful craftsmanship.

"Does it have any special features?" questions Ruby in an intrigued tone.

"Only one," she unbuckles the sheath on her hip, and transforms it into a heater shield, carrying the symbol of two golden crescents on the front.

"Cool..." Ruby breathes in awe.

"Aww, shucks," Jeanne chuckles embarrassedly, transforming the shield back to a sheathe and sheathing her sword back inside, "you're just saying that."

"No!" Ruby vehemently denies, "Nobody ever appreciates the classics these days," she says with passion. Maybe too much passion, now that she thinks about it, she winces, hoping they're not put off by her enthusiasm.

"Thanks, Ruby," smiles Jeanne.

"You're a real weapons geek, huh," Jaune says in amusement.

"Yep!" She says with no shame whatsoever, "Now show me yours!"

Jaune looks a bit hesitant, but he unsheathes the longsword anyway at Jeanne's prompting, "It's nothing special, just something I picked up until I can get a better sword."

Ruby eyes the longsword contemplatively. He isn't lying, while the blade is finely crafted; it is also nothing special, it wouldn't last him long against the Grimm, whose natural armor could shatter all but the finest of weapons.

Ruby's eyes the light up with an idea, "Beacon probably has a forge you can use to make a new weapon," she says excitedly. Already drawing up potential weapon schematics. Electric sword or fire sword?

Jaune shakes his head, "I have no idea how to make a weapon."

"I can help you," Ruby rebukes, not planning to be shot down.

"Assuming we pass whatever test they have planned for us," Jaune replies.

"We'll pass, for sure!" Ruby replies with determination.

"You're that confident?" Jaune raises a brow, unsure if it was arrogance or something else driving the girl's absolute confidence.

"Yep!" She grins.

Before Jaune can say something in response the perpetually bored voice of Headmaster Ozpin plays through the speakers scattered throughout campus.

"All initiates please report to the Beacon auditorium in five minutes."

He does not repeat himself. They all share a panicked look

Ruby turns to the twins, "Can we hurry up to the auditorium now?"

The twins look at her in alarm, "We were following _you_ ," Jeanne says, face pale.

"What?!" Ruby shrieks.

* * *

They reach the auditorium just as the Headmaster is about to begin his speech. Faces haggard from running.

"Yes, right on time!" Ruby does a little celebratory jig, before noticing her location, and immediately stopping awkwardly. The twins just share a laugh at her embarrassment.

"Hey, Ruby!" a blonde girl calls out to the girl, waving, "I saved you a spot!"

Ruby waves back to her and then turns to the twins, "That's my sister; I'll see you guys later. Okay?"

She then speeds off to her sister before they can reply. The twins share an amused look at her hyperactivity.

"Oh, woe is me. We've been abandoned," says Jaune dramatically.

Jeanne plays along and fake sniffles, "Indeed," she laments, "where else shall we find such an excitable companion!"

They double down laughing, but then fall silent as they hear a throat being cleared.

They look towards the raised platform where the headmaster was standing with a microphone in hand. Glynda Goodwitch stood behind him, a little ways off.

"I'll...keep this brief. You have traveled here today in search of knowledge - to hone your craft and acquire new skills. And when you have finished, you plan to dedicate your life to the protection of the people. But I look amongst you, and all I see is wasted energy, in need of purpose - direction. You assume knowledge will free you of this, but your time at this school will prove that knowledge can only carry you so far. It is up to you to take the first step."

Through the entire speech the stoic master's voice is droll and almost distracted. Hardly inspiring; demoralizing even. The silence after the speech is uncomfortable. He must be doing it on purpose, figures Jaune. Nobody could be this horrendous at speeches.

The headmaster walks off the stage, letting Glynda take the microphone.

"Initiation will be held tomorrow. You will be staying here, in the auditorium overnight. Make your own sleeping arrangements."

She then follows the headmaster out of the stage. It was strange...the man seems off.

"Pretty inspirational, right?" Jeanne quips sarcastically, breaking him from his reverie.

"Yeah. Ozpin seemed kind of distracted," he said, expression contemplative.

"Now that you mention it..."

Before they can converse about the headmaster's strange behavior more, a commotion gets their attention.

They turn their head towards where other initiates are staring, some with their scrolls out; all of them with expressions of amusement.

It's Weiss. The icy-heiress is reprimanding the poor Ruby once more, they can't hear what she's saying from this distance, but the wild gesticulation happening is giving them a good idea of how heated it is. The blonde haired girl beside Ruby- her sister, he recalls- does not look amused at how Weiss was lambasting her sister.

"Ruby really can't get a break, can she?" said Jeanne, sympathetic to the younger girl's plight.

Jaune nods in agreement, eyes fixed to the spectacle. Those two made quite a comedic duo; he could listen to them argue for hours and probably wouldn't get bored.

Ruby eventually said something that set off Weiss, and her volume increases enough for the twins to be able to hear her.

"Yes. And we could paint our nails, go shopping for new clothes, and talk about cute boys like tall, blonde and scraggly over there," she says with syrupy sarcasm, pointing a finger towards Jaune at that last part. She is pretty rude for a supposed heiress.

Jaune just rolls his eyes, while Jeanne laughs her ass off.

"She wouldn't be saying that if she saw you without your clothes," Jeanne whispers to him with a smirk. Jaune's face reddens and he mutters something about stupid sexy sisters.

"Really!?"

Jaune's face meets his palm, he's pretty sure that Jeanne can't even breathe at this point.

Ruby's genuine enthusiasm makes Weiss throw her arms up in the air in silent frustration as if saying, 'This is what I deal with', and turn to briskly walk away. Fists clenched at her sides, and teeth gritted.

Jeanne, eager to get some revenge on behalf of Ruby, wraps a hand around him, grins, winks, turns towards Weiss and calls out,

"Hey Weiss," she says, grin threatening to split her face, "We're natural blondes, y'know!"

If possible. Weiss' face becomes even grumpier, and it looks like she is going to curse them out at any moment. Before they can get cussed out, Jeanne quickly drags them towards the crowd congregating around the entrance of the auditorium.

They chuckle, even as they get jostled around by impatient initiates.

"That was priceless," Jeanne wipes a tear away, turning to flash a radiant smile his way.

"Wanna grab a bite to eat?" Jaune asks her as they exit the auditorium.

"I'd love to."

* * *

Beacon's food is heavenly. He supposes only the best food could be served to the future protectors of the world.

They returned to the auditorium after a day of exploring Beacon, probably later than they should have, as mostly everybody was already asleep; along the way to the auditorium and after they had changed into their pajamas they had managed to strike up an acquaintance with an excitable girl named Nora Valkyrie and her significantly calmer 'friend', Lie Ren.

"See you guys tomorrow," Jeanne sends Nora and Ren off with a smile and a wave.

Nora opens her mouth to proclaim a grand- and no doubt extremely loud -farewell but Ren, with the practiced ease of one who had done the motion thousands of times before, clamps a hand to her mouth.

Ren yawns, uncaring of the fact that Nora was currently slathering his hand with spit and bids them adieu. Dragging Nora off somewhere to sleep.

"Beacon really has some real characters. Huh, Jaune?" says a bewildered Jeanne.

Jaune just nods mutely.

They then find a secluded spot, and lie down. Thankfully, the floor was carpeted, so it wasn't too uncomfortable.

"Oh no," says Jaune in faux aghast manner, "We don't have any blankets to keep ourselves warm. I suppose we have no choice but to snuggle up for warmth."

Jeanne rolls her eyes, but snuggles closer him anyway. Ear pressed against his chest, "Dork."

"No. You," is his extremely witty retort.

"Wow. How scathing. I might just have to cut off your supply of kisses because of that extremely hurtful comment."

"Now, we both know that it would hurt you as much as me if you did that."

"Touché."

They spend a little time more time bantering with each other. Eventually the events of the day catch up to them, and Jeanne lets loose a jaw-cracking yawn, which makes Jaune yawn in return.

"We should probably get to sleep. Tomorrow's a big day..."

"Yeah," mutters Jaune in reply, eyes drooping. He gives her a chaste kiss on the forehead, "Good night. I love you. Little sis. "

"Don't even start with that again," Jeanne grumbles blearily, "Good night. Love you too..."

They drift off to sleep. The sound of each other's breathing lulling them to sleep. They never once let go of each other throughout the night.

 **AN**

 **And that's a wrap! Probably my favorite part about writing this fic is balancing the twins' sibling interaction with their lovers' interaction, there's something just immensely enjoyable about it. I do dislike my tendency to never describe anything. Probably one of my many faults as a writer; but other than that this chapter was pretty good in my opinion.**

 **No friskiness this chapter, unfortunately. I know you sick bastard wants some of that sweet twin on twin action but we can't really have the twins just grinding against each other every moment of every day, can we? Especially now that they've arrived at Beacon.**

 **I'm truthfully not looking forward to writing initiation. I feel like it's going to be extremely tedious; but alas, I must endure.**

 **Looking for some more sweet, sweet Arcest action? I've had the pleasure of encountering a fic that is much better than this one. '** Twin's Game' by Super Saiyan Cyndaquil. **It feels incredibly visceral, and the author does a greater job than me at portraying how fucked up Jaune and his sister's relationship really is. It's some heavy shit, could not recommend more.**

 **Anyway, enough of my rambling.**

 **Remember to leave a review. Was it bad? Was it good? Was it somewhere in between? Let me know. Criticize me so I can improve myself.**


	4. Chapter 4

He wakes up, feeling a warm breath washing over his face. Instinctively, he knows who it is.

Opening his eyes is a bit of challenge, what with the morning dust prying his eyelids shut, but when he finally does manage to accomplish the task. He is greeted with the sight of Jeanne draped over his body, breasts pushing up against his chest.

He chuckles at her cute sleeping face; drool and all. Oh, she would be absolutely mortified at the face she was making. A shame that he left his scroll in his pack, otherwise he would have captured the sight for all of eternity - or at least until she gets her hands on it, smashes the device, deletes the picture, or both. She could be surprisingly vindictive like that.

A quick glance around the auditorium reveals that most of the other initiates are still asleep. Good. While it's unlikely that he'd be able to go back to sleep, despite the fact that he went to bed fairly late, he could at least lounge around until the time of initiation came.

Being beside his sister would certainly pass the time quickly enough, quicker than he was comfortable with, in any case.

Movement at the furthest edge of his vision - so far that it is a small miracle that he even spots it - makes him turn his head to the side. The darkness in the auditorium, combined with the figure's dark choice of clothing leaves it barely visible to his eyes. Cobalt eyes stare into cat-like, amber eyes and the latter does likewise.

A Faunus, his mind supplies; their famous (or infamous, depending on the person you asked) night vision would no doubt give them a clear picture of Jaune, while he could barely even make the outline of their figure. It makes him feel infuriatingly powerless. It's a familiar feeling.

The Faunus moves their head, in a gesture that Jaune barely recognizes to be a nod of acknowledgement. After a second of contemplation, Jaune nods back stiffly.

Thinking it rude to continue their staring match, Jaune breaks it, setting his sights back to his sister. He runs a hand through her silky golden locks. Five minutes later, he turns his sights back to where the Faunus formerly was. It is empty. How scary.

Jeanne rolls over, ever a chaotic sleeper. Her elbow digging at his gut, he winces. There would be consequences for this, he swears it.

Deciding that locking her into place would bring the least amount of collateral towards his body. He hugs her smaller body tight against her chest. Burying his face into her hair.

He stays like that for a little while, inhaling her scent and bathing himself in her presence.

Eventually he hears the sounds of a few initiates waking: yawns, quickly silenced alarm clocks, and sleepily taken steps. He takes another glance at the auditorium, while most of his fellow initiates are still slumbering, some of them are stirring into wakefulness, and some are already groggily heading towards the exits, to either the bathroom or the cafeteria.

Sighing, he decides that now would be the appropriate time to wake his sister up.

"Jeanne," he whispers gently into her ear, "wake up. Initiation's gonna be starting soon."

She does not even stir at his gentle prodding. She's always been a heavy sleeper; he worries that this would become a problem when she goes out at the field. Of course, he knows that she's far too competent to make such a stupid mistake, but it doesn't assuage his worry.

He thinks about taking a more _carnal_ approach to waking her up, but discards the idea. There are far too many eyes around them, the chances of getting caught is too high. A problem that they are going to face a lot in future.

He grabs her shoulder and starts to shake her. She stirs, but does not yet wake.

"Five more minutes," she mumbles, digging her face further into his chest. How could such a formidable fighter be so hopeless in the morning?

The shaking gets rougher.

"Stooopppp."

"Not until you wake up."

Finally, after more prodding from him. Her eyes begin to flutter open. She looks up at him with a pout. Jaune thinks that it's a little unfair that someone could look so good after just waking up.

"Initiation gonna start up soon. Probably," he says with a shrug.

"Probably?" She says with a growl.

"Most probably."

She punches him in the shoulder. He winces. Cradling his abused shoulder. If Jeanne is anything other than gorgeous, it's hard-hitting.

He starts to get up from his position lying on the bed, but Jeanne has him underneath and is pushing all of her weight into him, locking him into place. It isn't a _bad_ position by any means. But he is really worried about initiation, plus another minute in this position and he might lose control.

"Could you get off, please?" He resorts to pleading. She doesn't respond, closing her eyes and attempting to go back to sleep.

His eyes narrow. He didn't want to have to resort to this, but unfortunately. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

His hands stealthily move to her sides and mercilessly tickle her. A startled sound comes from her lips, and she jumps against him.

"Don't!" She half-yells at him. He does not.

"I'm sorry, Jeanne," he tells his hysterically laughing sister, fingers still mercilessly tickling her sides, "you're gonna have to face the consequences of your actions."

"Please. I'll be good. Please just stop!" She pleads. Jaune makes a show of thinking it over. Face moving into a contemplative expression. He decides to risk snaking a hand to the underside of one of her breasts. She stiffens, a flush forming on her face.

He doesn't know what the hell he's doing. He knows that he's risking it all by just doing something like this. Somehow the thought only makes the situation more exciting. His fingers caress her soft flesh for a second. He just can't possibly resist. He yearns to touch her more intimately; he manages to reign himself in: barely.

A distressed whine leaves his sister's lips after his hand stops its ministrations.

"Did that wake you up?" his voice sounds husky and lustful, even to his own ears. He isn't talking about the tickling.

"Yeah," she says, not meeting his eyes.

He wants to go so much further. He knows that she feels the same. But there are people here. Damn it, and it's not gonna get any easier from here. He's going to have to think of ways for them to meet up in private in the future, that, or he'll go insane.

Judging by the thoughtful expression on her face, and the disappointed look in her eyes. She has just come to the same realization.

"Wanna get up now?" He asks her, startling her out of her thoughts. She looks at him, eyes still drooping a little. The message is clear. 'Please let me sleep some more.'

He shakes his head. She pouts.

"Fine!" She whines, getting up, "I'll never understand how you manage to get up so early every day. That your Semblance?"

He rolls his eyes, and tries very hard not to stare at her as she stretches. A devious thought strikes him suddenly; an evil grin forms on his lips.

"I thought _this_ was my Semblance?"

She jumps as his hand snakes under her shirt and splays against her stomach. She gasps as he gently rubs her belly, facing turning red. She shivers, and her eyes close in pleasure. His hand feels so warm there...so _right_.

They snap back open when he stops. She looks at him in a questioning manner. He doesn't look too happy about having to stop as well.

"That's about as far as we should go. Considering we're out in the open and all." He whispers.

She realizes with a start that he's right. She quickly looks away, embarrassed that she forgot about that, and reminding herself that they weren't home anymore. They can't openly be affectionate with each other. Not anymore.

"Yeah..."

Jaune heaves himself up, groaning as his bones popped. He yawns, a great jaw-popping motion that just denotes exhaustion. She smirks a little, still a little dusting on her cheeks, "What's this? Mr. Early Riser feeling a little bit tired?" The vindictiveness in her voice is great.

"Hey, there's a difference between being an early riser and being a morning person." He retorts, starting to join her on her morning stretches.

"Oh?" She prompts curiously, "What's the difference, then?"

"Well, being a morning person just means you're a freak of nature that _wants_ and _enjoys_ waking up early."

They both fake disgusted expressions at that.

"But being an early riser means that you wake up more out of necessity than anything else." He shrugs, "I still really hate waking up in the morning, but through my awesome well of will-power and perseverance-!"

"You can't even get up off the couch and get the remote when you wanna change the channel; instead you bug me to do it instead," she snarks. He glares at her. She grins unrepentantly.

"Ahem - yes, where was I again? Yeah, like I was saying. Through my awesome well of will-power and perseverance I manage to get out of bed. 'Cause you know what they say, 'the early bird get's the worm' and I love me some worms."

She giggles, punching him in the shoulder. He winces, rubbing his arm, "You are such a dork."

"A dork that you love."

"Guilty."

They do the rest of their stretches in comfortable silence. A few minutes pass, and then Jaune decides that they've done enough.

"Ready to head out?"

Jeanne nods in reply, yawing, evidently still longing for the comfort of sleep. Jaune isn't much different.

"Then let's head to the showers, and then get some grub." Jaune checks his scroll for the time. "While we got up a bit later than I was expecting due to a certain _someone_ -"

Jeanne whistles innocently.

"-we've still got a while before initiation starts up."

"Well, then," says Jeanne, walking towards the exit of the auditorium, "what're we waiting for? I'm starving."

"You're always starving," Jaune complains, rolling his eyes.

"Your point?"

Jaune sighs.

* * *

Jaune is waiting at the lady's showers, getting some looks from a few of the girls there, wishing that Jeanne would just hurry up already. He had finished his shower about ten minutes ago, and was dressed in his regular attire.

Just when it seemed some of the girls standing around would confront him for standing in from of the lady's shower room like some sort of creep, the door finally opens to reveal Jeanne, hair wet, and dressed in her regular attire, but without her armor.

Jaune sags in visible relief. "Took you long enough. Geez. I thought I was gonna die."

Jeanne gives him a look of befuddlement, running her hands through her wet hair. Her blonde locks glisten in the light, looking absolutely divine, "What?"

Jaune gestures to all of the girls around them, seeing that he is actually waiting for someone instead of for some other nefarious purpose, they just stand around.

"I looked like a total pervert just standing around here."

Jeanne cracks a smile. "They're not wrong."

Jaune huffs in offense, starting to head to the locker room. "How exactly am I a pervert?"

Jeanne's eyes gleam as she follows him. "This morning."

Jaune stops, and then started walking again, stuttering a little. "T-that's-"

"And then just before we went on that Bullhead flight to Beacon."

Jaune slumps in defeat. "Okay, but that doesn't mean I'm a pervert."

Jeanne raises a brow. "Doesn't it?"

Jaune rounds on her. "Oh don't act like you're so innocent, the things you do with your tongue..."

Jeanne flushes a little. Jaune viciously smiled to himself, planning to press his advantage even further to savor her delicious reactions. "Whenever I start to kiss you, you always get ret really close and start to mash yourself against me to get as _close_ as possible. It's pretty cute you know?"

Her face takes on an even deeper red. "I-do not!"

They reach the locker rooms. Rows of blue-gray lockers lined the walls. People mingle and equip themselves with their weaponry and armor. No one is close enough to them to listen in on their conversation.

"Oh?" He raises a single challenging brow, the corner of his lip tugging upwards, "Wanna prove it?"

"I-!"

"Guys!" Ruby zooms over to them, they both jumped slightly, alarmed at how close they were to getting caught. They carefully examines her expression for any sign that she has any suspicions about their relationship, but thankfully the girl's face is set in a cheerful smile. They trade relieved glances.

"Oh, Ruby," Jeanne greets the younger girl, a slightly strained smile coming onto her face. "Good morning. You need anything?"

"Nah." Ruby shakes her head, and then gestures behind her, to where a blonde haired girl wearing a brown jacket above a yellow tube top is walking towards them. She has strangely thick bracers on, and they would bet money that it is her weapon. "My sister, Yang, wanted to talk to you guys."

"So, you're Jeanne and Jaune, huh?" Yang says when she reaches them. She gives them both an appraising look, eyes lingering on Jaune just a little longer than Jeanne. She remains silent for a moment, and they for a second Jaune wonders if they had done anything to offend the other blonde, but the seconds pass when Yang shakes her head, apparently making her mind up.

She gives the both of them a friendly smile, and a wave. She exudes an aura of confidence. At least now they know who the confident sister is. "Any friend of Ruby is a friend of mine. Name's Yang Xiao-Long."

"Wait," says Jeanne, furrowing her brows, "Ruby Rose...Yang Xiao-Long. Aren't you sisters?"

Yang shrugs. "Half-sisters. We took our mothers' maiden names."

Jeanne makes a noise of realization.

Yang glances at them once more. "You guys don't have your weapons yet?"

"Just about to get 'em," Jeanne replies.

"Well, don't let us keep you waiting then. Initiation's probably starting soon, and you'll need all the time you can get."

Jeanne nods in agreement. "You're right." She then grins. "Good luck during initiation by the way."

Yang grinned back, snorting. "Don't need it."

Yang walked away soon after, Ruby going along with her, waving all the while.

Jaune lets out a sigh of relief. They had come dangerously close to getting caught just then. He keeps forgetting that this isn't the time or place to display more than sibling affection.

"Wanna head to our lockers now?" Asked Jaune after a few moments of tense silence. Jeanne silently nodded.

It didn't take them long to find where their lockers were. They were next to each other, after all. Ahead of their lockers were the Weiss girl and a red-haired girl wearing bronze armor. The red-haired girl looked like she would rather be anyone but there.

"Hey. Could you move over? Our lockers are behind you," says Jeanne.

The red-haired girl startles, and moves out of the way, apologizing. Weiss, on the other hand, rounds on them, an annoyed expression her face. She has evidently recognized them from yesterday.

"You-!" Weiss hisses, "From yesterday."

"Yes. Yes," Jeanne says dismissively. Weiss grinds her teeth together. That red-haired girl just sort of looks on, unsure of what to do. Jaune just enjoys the show.

"Do you even _know_ who I am?"

"You're Weiss Schnee, bratty princess. Now could you please move over?"

Weiss knuckles turn even whiter at Jeanne's insolence. However, she powers on through, "You interrupted a conversation between Pyrrha Nikos and I." Weiss smiles, apparently content that they would be wowed at the red-haired girl's name. The now named Pyrrha looks startled at being mention in the conversation.

"Okayyyy...could you just move over now?"

Weiss' smile drops and a scowl takes its place once more. "Do you even know who that is?" She demands.

Jeanne's eye twitches, she's losing her patience. This girl is just so _annoying._ "No I don't. Enlighten me."

Weiss apparently doesn't hear the sarcasm, that, or she just ignores it. She points at the red-haired girl, "This is Pyrrha Nikos, four-time winner of the Mistral Regional Tournaments!"

Jeanne's face is blank. "That's nice," she says.

"Graduated from Sanctum at the top of her class!"

"Uh huh."

"She's on the cover of every Pumpkin's Pete's Cereal box!"

"Oh?" Jeanne finally looks interested. "Really? Those are pretty unhealthy, aren't they? Jaune likes them though."

"Yep." Jaune nods his hid in affirmation, and he then glances to Pyrrha once more, giving her a closer look, "would you look at that. That really is her. I like your cereal by the way."

Pyrrha gives him a shaky smile, and they think it has a good bit of confusion present in it. "It's not very healthy for you..."

"That's what I keep telling him!" Jeanne interjects.

"That's it!" Weiss is finally fed up with them. "Come, Pyrrha! Let us leave these...these peasants!" She turns on her heel with a huff, and walks to the exit. Pyrrha gives them one last apologetic laugh, before following Weiss.

"Finally," Jeanne breathes, "I didn't think she would ever leave."

"Tell me about it," Jaune agrees.

"Initiates please head towards the Beacon cliffs in fifteen cliffs for initiation." Ms. Goodwitch's voice informs thought the speakers.

"Not a moment too soon, apparently," he says.

"We should gear up now," Jeanne prompts him, walking up to her locker, opening it, and then heaving her armor out.

"Yep."

* * *

They're the last ones to arrive. The other initiates turn to look, standing in a line. Headmaster Ozpin along with Professor Goodwitch are standing in front of the initiates.

"Nice of you to finally join us, Ms. Arc, Mr. Arc," says Professor Goodwitch, a downward quirk on her lips. Jeanne smiles sheepishly at the intimidating woman, while Jaune remains silent. Shaking her head, Professor Goodwitch points to two adjacent slightly raised silver platforms.

Now that they have the chance to analyze their surroundings, they notice that the rest of the students are standing on similarly raise platforms. Ruby waves them over, as her platform is rather close to theirs.

They head over to the aforementioned platforms, standing at the end of the line of students.

Headmaster Ozpin sips from ever-present mug, and then clears his throat. Every eye on the cliff is on him. He just has that sort of presence about him, the one that demands attention and respect. A presence like his father, Jaune's lips twist at the thought. Hopefully he isn't half the bastard that his father is.

"You will be heading into the Emerald Forest to search for a relic," he said evenly, eyes moving behind his spectacle to look each and every one of them in the eye. Jaune stiffened as the headmaster's eyes lingered on him for a second, before drifting onto the next student.

"You will be partnered up with another initiate who will be with you for the four years you will spend at Beacon, if you pass, that is." The words send a chill throughout both of the twins' spines. They hear Ruby mutter a curse under her breath.

"The first person you make eye contact with will be your partner." That...that just made things a lot more complicated.

"That is all." Ozpin turns to Professor Goodwitch.

"Launch the students." Wait...what?

With a nod, the stern professor pulls out her scroll, and presses something on the holographic screen. A second later and they are flying though the air.

 **AN**

 **With this chapter done, Desperate Measures has officially passed the ten thousand word milestone. It might seem pathetic, but the fact fills me with pride.**

 **Remember to leave a review.**


	5. Chapter 5

Jaune's alarmed eyes meet Jeanne's, and through the panic and the uncertainty and the fear, a message passes between them.

 _I'll try to find you._

And then they're off. The space they occupied before, nothing but displaced air now. Leaving a contemplative Headmaster and a quiet Professor Goodwitch still gazing at her scroll with pursed lips.

* * *

Flying, he's flying.

Unbidden, a disbelieving and hysterical laugh leaves his lip - before it's choked back into his throat by the force of the wind whipping past his face; his clothes. He's not flying, he reminds himself, trying and failing to curtail the momentary joy of a childhood dream being realized - quite the opposite, in fact.

He's _falling._

He almost panic, he's not proud to admit; but then his mind drifts to Jeanne (as it is wont to do, as is right) and his face hardens imperceptibility, even as the trees of the Emerald Forest draw ever nearer.

She wouldn't be having any trouble right now - in fact, she would probably find this pathetically easy. She'd crush this challenge, wouldn't she? Surely, he should be able to do the same?

He ignores the dark voice whispering in his ear, telling him that he's not nearly as good as her. Instead, his mind turns over plan after plan.

But the trees are getting awfully close...he has only seconds to decide a course of action. If he has to come up with a plan, it has to be simple, effective, quickly implementable, and of course - sensible.

Acrobatics won't work. He's not nearly as skilled in that area as most. He bets that if he tries to pull some sort of complex maneuver on one of the branches on the way down, then he'd likely make a very messy, albeit, spectacular final performance for anybody watching.

Same with his weapon: a steel longsword. He briefly entertained the thought that he could perhaps use his blade against one of the trunks of the quickly approaching trees, cutting into it and slowing down his fall to non-crippling, or at least, non _-fatal_ levels. But even if that worked - and _didn't_ blow up in his face - chances are, his blade would snap and he'd be short a weapon. He might as well deactivate his Aura and fall down headfirst, by then. He'd have no chance of surviving initiation without his weapon.

So what then, what else does he have?

His mind latches onto the inklings of an idea an idea, as quick as lightning.

 _If he has to come up with a plan, it has to be simple, effective, quickly implementable, and of course - sensible._

Well, three out of four ain't bad. Right?

He scrunches his eyes shut in an almost resigned manner, body tensing up in preparation for his scatter-brained scheme. He hopes that Jeanne never learns of what he's about to do - she'll either tease over it for the rest of eternity, or she'll worry over him incessantly for exactly the same length of time. Or both.

His Aura.

He's always been told that he's had an abnormally large amount of Aura - his physique, reflexes; general combat capability? All mediocre, but his _Aura. Now,_ that's something that he has in spades.

So he _pushes_. He pushes so hard that his Aura formed a faint sheen of white around his armored frame. He pushes so hard that he feels like a bottomless chasm has formed in his chest, a bone-deep exhaustion settling over his whole body, one that he has to fight to overcome. Finesse's never been something he's good at - the complex Aural control exercise needing a sense of inner peace that he quite frankly _lacks_ \- so he uses brute force instead.

Who needs pain-painstakingly achieved, amazingly precise control, when you have raw _power,_ and large quantities of said power? Nobody, that's who.

The wind whipping at his eyes makes it very hard to see anything or well, anything - but he tries to steer his body to a nearby copse of trees as his impromptu flight nearly reaches its end, making sure to maintain the shield of Aura protecting his entire body all the while - it's taxing, incredibly so, but he just about manages it. He braces himself, trajectory - a fairly thick tree branch that he's going to be hitting from a half-sideways angle.

A blur of white and yellow, limps splayed to ensure that force is distributed evenly all across his body, he realizes that he probably makes quite the sight. One thing's for sure...

He's definitely thinking of a new landing strategy. If he survives, that is.

He grits his teeth, as his shoulder makes first-contact with a branch, the relatively glancing blow makes minute adjustments to his trajectory - as well as tearing off the pauldron he's wearing on that shoulder. He feels his shoulder-bone trying to snap back into a break, but his Aura forces the bone. Not. To. Break. So it holds, kept in place by the power of his soul. A vaguely agonized sound leaves his lips - the pain, excruciating.

And then his adjusted trajectory sends him into another branch, this time the thick tree-limb gives, snapping off with an almost mournful sound as his breast-plate squeals in protest. That blow drives the air from his lungs and absorbs most of his velocity.

For a mili-second, he's hanging there, in the middle of the air, in an almost comical position, blindly-grasping hands failing to grab onto anything but a handful of leaves.

And then back down he's falling, impacting tree limb after tree limb in a decidedly ungraceful descent.

After what feels like a millennium, he's finally free from the branches, plummeting down into the dead-fall covered ground of. Wind is driven once more from his nearly-empty lungs as twigs snap and sharp-edged rocks dig painfully into his back, as he impacts the floor of the Emerald Forest.

Dark begins to encroach against his vision, and Jaune wonders how Jeanne is doing.

* * *

A deep, menacing growl - so close he can feel the fetid breath against his skin, smell the acrid scent of burnt rubber and rotted flesh. The sound of displaced air.

A scream rips from his throat as his shoulder is ripped from its socket with a sickening popping noise, waking him in the worst possible way. Despite the agony, despite the confusion, Jaune rolls forward, throwing all of his body weight in a directionless motion with no discernible purpose other than an unwillingness to stay in the same place.

It is what saves his life.

Something great and big and decidedly wolf-like in appearance is stalked over the place where he used to lie, jaws that could rip the metal from a Bullhead snapping where his throat used to be. Jaune shivers as the Beowulf's furious slitted eyes turn to him.

There's no time to react - to draw his weapon, to do _anything._

He freezes as the Beowulf pounces at him once more, crimson eyes flashing as if to convey 'you're not getting away this time'. Its hulking frame not belying its great speed, it's using its claws this time, sharp and practically tailor made for rending flesh from bone.

He rolls again, having the presence of mind to draw his weapon in a whisper of steel on leather. He quickly pops his shoulder back into his socket with a strangled scream. His Aura comes to the surface already healing his abused shoulder, and the numerous comparatively small injuries he's received from his fall into the forest.

He's not quite fast enough, however.

He grimaces as his dented breast-plate squeals, now sporting three jagged claw-marks from an opportunistic rent by his canine opponent. It's not as debilitating as it could have been - but a blow's a blow, and he's already some-what low on Aura. The force of the blow almost sends him tumbling mid-roll, but he drives his knee to the grind and _pushes_. His toes touch the ground as his incomplete and crude Aural leap launches him in the air.

 _Too high in the air!_

The Beowulf is on him in a flurry of flashing teeth and rending claws. Desperation pushes his mind to churn faster and faster than it's ever done before. His life flashes before his eyes in snapshots of images that have him gnashing his teeth. Blonde-haired and blue-eyed and unbelievably precious to him flashes before his eyes.

Before he notices, he's spinning through the air and bringing down his sword with a horizontal cleave, a guttural war-cry leaving his chest as he decapitates the charging Beowulf with a single defiant slash of his sword.

The moment freezes, seeming to stretch into the realms of unreality. He meets the almost-disbelieving eyes of the decapitated Grimm head with blood-lusted triumph. Something almost primal slamming into him and diffusing a tingling feeling of satisfaction, pumping along with the blood in his veins.

And then something decidedly more physical slams into him - the Beowulf's headless body crashing against his still-airborne person, sending him tumbling backward with a Beowulf atop him. He winces as he hits his head against the ground below, thankful for the cushioning his Aura provides him. Even still, his brain rattles in his skull.

He quickly shoves the heavy frame of the Beowulf off of him with no small amount of effort.

This all takes place within two or three seconds, he realizes. He didn't even have enough time to take a breath. He stares at the quickly dissolving carcass of the Beowulf with some disbelief, the head is already half-gone; but the body is just beginning to decompose into a horrible smelling smoke.

He tries to calm his beating heart, tries to tame his wild pulse, tries to tell himself that he's safe for now. But his eyes dart across the suddenly too-dark forest around him. What else is lying in wait around there, he wonders. There could be another Beowulf just out of sight, hiding behind a tree, waiting to strike from the shadows just when his guard is down. It doesn't help that the giddy feeling that's filling his head with a dark fog of satisfaction that still won't subside.

He shakes his head, trying to stand up. But his legs are shaking, and he falls down instead. The tips of his ears burn. His skin is clammy. He feels like he's drowing underneath his armor. He's Grimm-bait unless he calms down. He has to calm down. Think of something calming Jaune, _think_.

He closes his eyes, breathing in and out and thinking of Jeanne.

A calmer smile finds its way on his face, and his body relaxes. The dark hazy feeling of panic, leaving, like it was never there in the first place. The tingling feeling that tinges his smile with an essence of blood-lust, harder - but his feelings for Jeanne crush his triumph effortlessly, grounding him.

A tentative chuckle leaves his lips. Ever his anchor...

Making a mental note to kiss Jeanne the next time he's alone with her, he stands up, legs still wobbly; but less so than before. He paces around a bit, careful to not jostle his quickly-healing shoulder, and weary of any further ambushes.

Eventually his legs stop wobbling, and Jaune starts to think about what's just happened, and what's nearly just happened.

This isn't his first rodeo, he's killed Grimm before, sometimes multiple Grimm at once. But those were always very heavily controlled, simulations - not reality. Sure, the fear of harm was present - but not death, never death.

This...this wasn't anything like those times. The Grimm was in his face, relentless and untiring and never ceasing to attack. _It_ was in control. Not him. For the first time in his life, Jaune realizes how monsters like the one he had just slain could bring the world to its knees. He doesn't know why the thought vindicates him.

And the look in its eyes...Jaune shudders, in both fear, and that same disturbing triumph. Like he's won. Like it's a competition. Something's wrong. People shouldn't feel like that, should they? Maybe.

He lets out one mor _e_ great big exhalation, mind turning to the fact that he isn't out of the red yet, he still needs to find Jeanne. The initiation isn't going to be finishing itself.

He looks around, at a lost to where he should be heading.

Sighing in dismay, he just randomly chooses a direction, and he starts walking. But despite his efforts to fully calm himself, the unease never leaves him.

* * *

 **AN**

 **Remember to leave a review. I'm not used to writing fight scenes, so any feedback on that would be much appreciated.**


	6. Chapter 6

He's such an idiot.

The sound of twigs snapping, then - howling - the pitter patter of dozens of feet stomping on the ground in quick succession. Something primal in him says he's being chased, screams he's being chased.

He's such a freaking _idiot._

Beowulves don't always travel in packs, but it's common enough that you shouldn't rule it out just out of principle. The Beowulf he killed must've been a scout, sent further ahead from the main pack to incite panic in anyone it would've found. It was marking prey. Again, not unheard of.

But the level of intelligence necessary to conduct such a plan...you'd need an Alpha Beowulf for that.

A shiver tingles up his spine at that, pupils dilating in a fear that he tries to suppress as he realizes exactly what's coming after him, even as he bobs and weaves across the natural obstacles presented his way by the forest. If he stops, he's dead meat. But they're gaining on him; he gets tired, they don't. And he's been running for an awfully long time.

He can't keep this up. Sooner or later, he's gonna run out of stamina. He needs a plan.

A plan. He grits his teeth, barely managing to duck past a stray branch - trying not to think about the unknown number of Grimm on his tail, trying not to let the sound of demented howling emanating from behind him affect him, getting steadily louder - _louder_ \- _LOUDER_.

He feels trapped, in this forest home to monsters. He knows that out there - not too far - there are fellow initiates, maybe even going through the exact same thing, if not to the same degree. But it doesn't help. The trees around him seem huge, larger than they truly are, large enough to kiss the sky - large enough to eclipse the Sun. And Jaune has never felt so alone.

Think. He grits his teeth, keeping his head down. This can't keep going on. He's going need to stop sometime soon. His lungs are empty; he can barely breath. Trees. Trees. Trees. More trees. There's nowhere he can go, nothing he can do. He's going to die here, in this forest. And he's never going to see Jeanne again, never going to kiss her and touch her and tell her he loves her and-!

There! On the edge of his vision, the canopy thins out, probably a clearing. His spirits don't exactly lift, but for once there's hope, no matter how minuscule. Here, deep inside the forest proper, he won't stand a chance - too little room to maneuver, he'd get overwhelmed in an instant - but in a clearing? Sure, they might be better able to surround him, but at least he could have a chance to dodge. Beowulves aren't known for being the fastest Grimm after all, nor were they the smartest. If he's smart, maybe he'll have a chance to make it so that they stumble in front of each other.

The only problem is the Alpha Beowulf. His mind flashes back to the illustrations he's seen in the textbooks - bigger than a normal Beowulf by far, with armor like an Atleasian tank - cruel looking - all jagged edges and deadly spikes. They're stronger. Faster. Smarter. Just plain better in every way from their younger brethren. One didn't live long enough to become an Alpha by being easy to kill, after all.

He gnashes his teeth as he thinks about it, hand holding onto his sword in a white-knuckled grip. Control, he thinks. He needs control. So what if he has a massive killing machine after him? So fucking what? Nothing, not even something like that Alpha will tear him away from Jeanne.

He breaks the tree-line as he makes this vow. A triumphant roar escapes his lips, even as he runs deeper into the clearing, near the center - startling an errant deer away into darting into the opposite thicket into the one he came from. He envies it, it doesn't have any death monsters coming after it. What a blessed existence.

Quickly, he surveys the clearing, he doesn't have enough time to change his position; but he does have enough to get a lay of the land - so to speak. The clearing is not very large, but nor is it very small. There's a small pond near the middle where the deer was drinking from, before the he scared it away. His throat burns at the sight of it. He licks at his lips. He hadn't noticed, what with all the running, but he's very thirsty. He supposes that he'll have the chance to sate it, now.

If he lives.

A single Beowulf breaks the treeline then, the Alpha. Jaune's eyes widen upon seeing it, and he has to stop his knees from shaking. The pictures don't do it justice.

It is big. It is armored. But it's more than that. The armor around it is scarred and pitted with marks from several lifetimes of fighting. Its massive bulk is half the height of the tree besides it, and it stands straighter than its lesser brethren, almost like a man, instead of the monster that it is. It growls once it sees him, a low rumbling sound, that almost feels louder than it actually is - rattling in his skull, scraping against his brain. An unfathomable amount of hatred flashes in intelligent crimson eyes.

This is a wholly different caliber of Grimm from the one he had fought, before. A thinking opponent. A planning predator instead of berserking beast. Does he even have a chance?

And it's not alone.

They come from behind it, bodies bent low - almost in supplication at their Alpha. They prowl on haunched legs, snapping at him, as if to bite at him, even from this distance. Seven in, total. Definitely not an insignificant sum, but nothing compared to the tales of Beowulf-lords leading a pack of hundred.

But still…

It's eight against one. Jaune would struggle against just the Alpha - would probably lose pretty badly, even if he had all of his Aura, which he doesn't. He tightens his hand against his sword, eyes sharpening imperceptibly as he considers his chances in this battle. Not good. Not good at all.

The Beowulf turns its maw at him, and if he was less sane, he might have thought that it was smiling at him, and then it roared. So deep and so loud that the bone-white armor it wears quivers and shakes, so loud that he thinks that the whole forest must've heard it.

It must've been a command or something, because its subordinates followed with their own roars, smaller and weaker but still deadly to him. His blood is boiling in his veins, and his heart thumps against this chest with enough force that it almost hurts.

The lesser Beowulf charge. And Jaune digs his feet into the ground, eyes serious, sword ready to strike.

* * *

"Nearly all of the students have found a partner." Goodwitch narrows her eyes in concentration as she mentally catalogues every single partnership formed, as well as their feasibility. Plans on how to individually deal with them. Plans on how to collectively deal with them. Plans about how she could match them up against each other in her classes for maximum chance of improvement. Plans upon plans upon plans. Preparation is paramount.

She glances again at the scroll in her hands, witnessing the partners interact with each other, some were amicable, some were not. Such was the nature of things. She sighs, caressing her knuckles against her forehead. Not for the first time, she questions the wisdom of sticking multiple very volatile teenage mentalities together.

Ms. Belladonna and Ms. Xiao-Long; Ms. Schnee and Ms. Rose; Mr. Ren and Ms. Valkyrie; Ms. Arc and Ms. Nikos. There were more partnerships, of course, but those eight were perhaps the most promising of this batch. She admits that if their performance would be any indication, then this would be an exemplary year. Now, that is not to say that they're perfect. Because that would be a blatant falsehood. In fact, even Ms. Nikos, as venerated as she is (no matter how well earned that veneration may be) has been making some mistakes, attributable to inexperience those mistakes may be, but Goodwitch doubts that the Grimm the young woman will be facing would care overly much for excuses such as that.

But that's why they've come here, isn't it? To hone their talents so that those very same mistakes are stamped out in a relatively controlled environment. So more experienced Hunstmen could teach them lessons that they themselves have learned through pain and sacrifice.

She's snapped from her musing by an errant hum from Ozpin. She raises a brow at him, the question not needing to be asked, but he looks to be too absorbed to what he's seeing in his scroll. Curiosity stoked, she swipes through the live surveillance from the numerous camera planted in the forests, searching for what had captured her superior's attention so.

Her eyebrows nearly shoots from her hairline as she finds what he might be looking at. Mr. Arc, Ms. Arc's twin brother. Definitely not as talented as his sister, in fact - he had just barely passed the examination to get into the school itself. Currently, the young man is facing off against a small pack of Beowulves.

Wait.

Her eyes zero in on the menacing figure of the Alpha Beowulf - nearly out of the camera's frame, but now that she notices it, it's hard to imagine how she could have missed the hulking figure of the Grimm in the first place. It's somewhat further away than the rest of its pack, which is making a beeline for Mr. Arc, who is very noticeably not running away. Foolish, perhaps. Or maybe intelligent? He could hardly hope to outrun Grimm. Or - more accurately - he could. But the monsters were known to chase a target for days on end without showing any signs of fatigue.

Nevertheless - Mr. Arc is hopelessly outmatched, maybe if it had just been the seven lesser Beowulf he would have been fine, but the inclination of the Alpha Beowulf made things significantly harder for the young man. Her lips purse as she considers the Grimm, they were tricky things - Alphas, their meer presence managed to somehow improve the tactics that a Beowulf pack might use. While not quite the formidable threat that a Goliath or even a Beringel might be, Alphas are still above what many of the first years could conceivably best, only a few of their number could manage it.

And she's afraid that Mr. Arc is not one of them.

"Ozpin-" She calls out, planning to suggest that one of the students in the upper year, or even one of the professors handle the pack, but Ozpin holds up a hand, eyes still firmly on the scroll on his hand.

"He will be fine." He says, simply.

Goodwitch furrows her brows. Does he know something that he doesn't about Mr. Arc? Well, that's not really a hard question to answer. The answer is 'yes', Ozpin has an uncanny ability to know things that he really shouldn't. Perhaps the better question to ask would be: what exactly does he know that she doesn't about Mr. Arc? Still, even with the knowledge that Ozpin wouldn't let one of their prospective students perish due to inaction, she's still antsy about letting Mr. Arc fend for himself. Peter calls her overprotective and that she shouldn't 'coddle' these 'up and coming heroes' and to stop preventing them from 'seeking their own glory' and she concedes that he might have a point. But she doesn't like taking unnecessary risks.

Unaware, or simply uncaring of her inner turmoil, Ozpin simply continues to stare at his scroll. Mr. Arc dodges a berserking charge from one of the Bewoulves, only to head straight into another's path, he stabs at it's side, blade sinking an ineffectual few inches - even as he gets caught up in its charge, feet dragging against the ground at the blow, almost tripping backwards. Luckily, he manages to angle himself so that his armor takes the brunt of the blow. Unluckily, the other five have not been idle either, and are looking to take advantage of his unbalanced state.

She purses her lips, running an errant hand through her hair. Three of the five blows hit the young man. One of them, dodged by a hair's breadth. The other, redirected by an Aura-amplified fist. The altercation would've already been over, had the Alpha joined the efforts of its pack, but it inexplicably hangs back, acting overly cautious for some reason.

"We should at least station one of the professors close by."

Ozpin's non-committal hum is the only answer she gets. Taking as an affirmative she quickly sends a message to Dr. Oobleck, requesting that he watch over Mr. Arc's location, but not to interfere unless the young man is in serious danger. She breathes a sigh of relief once she gets an affirmative from her fellow teacher.

Hesitating, she decides to leave the matter of Mr. Arc alone for now, trusting Ozpin's judgement. The headmaster would not do this without reason, after all. You could call Ozpin an eccentric man, and she would not refute you; but you could hardly call him a stupid one. She switches over to one of the other student's, leaving the matter to Ozpin.

She doesn't notice the shocked fascination in the headmaster's eyes as he watches, nor how his fingers tighten on the scroll, leaving indents where his fingers dent metal. Nor does she hear Ozpin mouth the word to himself:

 _Magic?_

* * *

Something is building up inside him. Electricity is in the air. He gets pushed back by an errant swipe, and one of the Beowulves advance, gaping maw heading for his throat. An unexpected burst of joy.

The whisper of steel cutting through air. The Beowulf, sans arm, recoils from the force of it all. He would've pressed the advantage, were it not for the six others upon him. He grits his teeth. Aura low, and outnumbered by six. Victory seems distant - a dream.

But he chases after it with the same fervent desire, as if it were certainty. It's not hope, not exactly. It's the roaring blood in his veins, the vicious crimson pallor that drapes over his mind. He wants to see them broken beyond all measure, ash in the wind, smoke in the air. The ugly beast in his chest gnashes its teeth and bays for blood. And for a fraction of a second, he's not a human, but as much a beast as the Grimm he's facing.

But bloodlust won't help him. He can't afford mistakes here, the situation's too delicate for that berserking rage, for that same bloody triumph that he's seen a glimpse of when he'd killed that first Beowulf, when he'd severed another's arm. Mind in the game. Eyes on the prize.

He breathes. They strike; but he's been moving long before they've started. Faster than what he should be capable of. Whisper of steel. One of them die, shoulder to shoulder, the cut arches. The body falls. Another perishes, a stab through the head, then a vicious rip to the side. The howling in his bones. The thumping of his heart. The triumph in his veins. He's better than he should be, a niggling thought in the back of his head says that something is off.

But he's too busy moving to pay it any thought. A flash of yellow and silver. Hair and steel. four swipes and bites, and then a fifth bite. Too slow, by far. Everything's hazy with speed. A slash, monstrous in both its power and intent. Two take it. Two fall. Everything's hazy with blood. Dodge, then slash side, to side. Half a Grimm falls, the other half remains standing. An explosion of black smoke. Seven to two, in as much time as it takes to complete a breath. Everything's hazy with satisfaction.

The uninjured one pounces, in the air it's defenceless. He takes advantage. Eyes of a predator. Exploiting every vulnerability with vicious results. Hip to shoulder. Black smoke. One on one. A fair fight? A vicious smile tugs at his lips. Not by half.

It's too stupid to be wary. Too stupid to understand that without an arm, and without its fellows, that it'd have no chance. It dies, he doesn't remember the specifics. Maybe a slash to its head. Maybe disembowelment. It's not important enough to remember, not worth the space it would take up in his head. He's already looking at the Alpha by the time it explodes into smoke. A low, keening growl rumbling through his chest - a challenge.

He rolls his shoulders, an unfamiliar smile coming to his lips, despite the situation. Step. Step. Step. The tension thick enough that you could choke on it. Perhaps it's arrogance that makes him walk over to the Alpha, who's still standing there, watching him with those same crimson eyes. Perhaps. Perhaps. Perhaps.

He wonders for a second, about its behaviour, at how it tilts its head at him. It doesn't make a move, as he stands in front of it. It hasn't so much as made a move, since its pack had attacked him. It unnerves him, honestly. But not so much that he can't tear it down.

The savage thought creates an orchestra in his gut - of hunger, a desire for blood that should have scared him. Should. Running is the smartest decision, here. He shouldn't let this foreign madness grab hold of him anymore. He gulps, and the air is thick enough with smoke that he felt that if he opened his mouth, then he would choke.

The crunching of leaves - the Beowulf walks forwards, maw opening just a tad, almost a smile, definitely a snarl. Jaune meets it in the middle with exactly the same expression. It's almost respectable, a duel among equals, rather than a fight amongst hunter and hunted.

The probing stroke of his sword is not just blocked - but completely obliterated. Blade snapping in half with but an absent minded flick of the Alpha's gigantic paw. Somehow, it doesn't slow him down, only spurring him on further. The sudden coolness in his chest tingles. Almost a ritual, this fight has meaning. Beyond survival.

Discarding his ruined sword, his next blow is a flicker-fast punch to its snout. The blow bounces off, scuffing the pitched and pocket-marked armor with a deep furrow. He ignores the pain in his hand, grinning even as the Alpha's retaliatory strike sweeps past his face as he dodges. A lock of yellow hair drops to the forest-floor; but not before in a blur, he ducks past its legs and sends a kick to the back of its knees.

 _Crack_ , goes its armor. _Crack_ , goes the bones in his foot, as they try to break, but find that they _can't_. His Aura holds it together. The pain gives him focus. His vision sharpens. The world slows. The Beowulf whirls around, thick limbs arcing 'round in a motion that he's not quite fast enough to avoid.

Pain is all he feels for a single second - that, and the peculiar sensation of weightlessness. Maybe a smarter man would've given up. Maybe a saner man would've given up. The coldness in him does not diminish in the second. It's already coming at him, at this point. Slavering maw open and hungry.

At his seeming demise, the coldness inside him _burst_. It recoils at the thought of being thawed out, rising up in indignation, and soaring forth in a surge of energy that's as agonizing as it is euphoric.

He kicks downwards, at the ground, as if to shatter the earth. Then, he disappears.

 _Speed. His limbs are, for a second, longer and ended in cruel-looking claws. His perception, flattened and twisted into a colorless looking blob. He closes his eyes and snarls quietly to himself. Blood in the air._

He opens his eyes, and he can see again - greens and browns and a red film covering his mind. instinct leads him towards the Beowulf, still crouch down on where he used to be. Its ears twitch, and its head snaps towards him. Its eyes almost seeming to widen at the sight of him high up in the air.

The coldness in his chest spreads out once more.

But he's still in the air. The Alpha's eyes gleam with an otherworldly glow, impossibly thick legs tense up in preparation and for a bizarre second they're staring at each other with that same sort of eagerness.

 _Cold, so much so that it feels like his insides have been replaced with a tundra._

He orients himself in the air. Feet to the sky. Eyes on the Beowulf. He's out of Aura. One good hit and he's done. Bad odds? Sure. For the Alpha, that is.

* * *

Jeanne stumbles, a stabbing pain in her chest. She gives her partner - Pyrrha - a grateful look as she catches her.

"Whoa," Pyrrha says, smiling at her. "You okay?"

Jeanne gives her partner what she hopes is a reassuring smile. Pyrrha might not be her first choice as partner, but she can't really stay mad at the girl for it. Silently bitter that it isn't her brother? Sure. But she's strong, and they work well - as evidenced by the way they (along with Ren and Nora) had taken down that Deathstalker.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." Even so, she frowned as she held a hand against her chest. Unbidden, a sudden worry for Jaune echoes through her. She shakes her head. Jaune'll be fine, he's better than he gives himself credit for. She's not biased, of course. Despite that, though, her worry doesn't fade. A thoughtful expression on her face as she heads back to the cliffs, Pyrrha trailing behind her with a worried expression.

Ruby and Weiss are conversing among themselves in hushed tones, slightly ahead of the group. Slightly behind them, are Yang and her quiet partner, a girl by the name of Blake - Yang gesticulates as she laughs at her own jokes, while her partner is nodding her head every-so-often, eyes leisurely drifting to the forest every so often. Off to the side, Nora looks to be deep in discussion with a sleepy looking Ren.

They're good people, even Weiss. But she can't help but wish that Jaune is here.

She stops suddenly, gnawing at her lips. Maybe it's a bit unreasonable to think that she would just so mange to find Jaune in a forest this side. But surely…

She shakes her head as Pyrrha prods her softly, seeing as the rest of the group is getting slightly far ahead. The cliffs are getting ever nearer, and Jeanne is assailed with the question on how exactly they were supposed to get up.

She continues going on, smiling at her partner as to assuage her worries, converting in a light, jubilant tone that does nothing to convey her worries. The peculiar burning in her chest doesn't stop - heartburn, perhaps - nor does her worries.

Her eyes once more trace the outline of the cliffs, he's likely there by now - right? It's not likely that he's had to deal with anything worse than an Ursa, after all. Comparing her initiation and his wouldn't be fair. The vast majority of initiates probably had it significantly easier than her - Nevermores and Deathstalkers were hardly a common sight here, after all.

She smiles to herself. Yeah, he's probably back in Beacon, with his partner and waiting for her. But why…

Why does that thought seem so brittle?

* * *

"Headmaster!" Goodwitch hisses, eyes on Mr. Arc as he takes a devastating hit from the Alpha, being batted away as easy as if he was a fly. The boy's Aura shatters like so much glass, white-colored Aura streaking through the air like an absent painter's blush, fading away and leaving him without his biggest advantage. "Oobleck is-!"

Ozpin interrupts her, fingers flashing as he contacts Oobleck - eyes still on the fight. "Do not interfere!"

"B-but sir-!" Dr. Oobleck stammers through the call, shock clearly coloring his tone. Goodwitch honestly can't blame him - what's Ozpin's game? This boy is in danger!

"Do not interfere!" His tone conveying absolute authority, hazel eyes flashing from behind his spectacles.

Even Goodwitch pauses at the man's tone - Ozpin is generally an amicable and laid-back individual, following a policy of a more libertine and lax sort than her, but when he wants for obedience, he wants for _absolute_ obedience. They fall silent at that, silent - yet still aghast.

His eyes are serious, and her guts sinks as she watches the boy about to get killed. She wants to close her eyes, look away, anything - death is never an easy thing to deal with, sure - maybe she's gotten used to it, but she could never _not_ care.

But Ozpin keeps watching.

"Come on," he whispers, gaze as intense as she's ever seen it. " _Come on_ …"

Mr. Arc kicks, and then he suddenly vanishes - no, wait! He's in the air, above the Grimm that would've taken his life nary a second before. But how? A teleportation Semblance, perhaps. No, she reminds herself, he doesn''t have the Aura for such a thing. But what other explanation is there?

"Oh my!" Dr. Oobleck exclaims from Ozpin's scroll, no doubt just as shocked at her by the sight they'd just seen. Not gore and viscera, but rather a miraculous evasion. A miracle, by no small stretch.

Someone's laughing, she realizes. She looks around, for the source of the voice. Her eyes drift past Ozpin, but surely not - but it is him. He's laughing like he'd just heard a gut-bustingly funny joke, tears falling from his eyes in rivulets as he doubles over.

"I knew it…" He kept muttering to himself, even as the Alpha honed in on Mr. Arc's location. "I knew it…"

It's almost world-shattering - Ozpin was this unflappable, indomitable _pillar_. A Brother's-forsaken (literally) _wizard_ from the days of yore. A plan for every situation. An endless bastion of patience and stability. It would not be an overstatement to say that the headmaster is one of the only reasons that humanity is not being overrun by the Grimm. He's never lost his composure.

Until now, that is.

Somehow, someway. Ozpin has seen something in the young man currently battling an Alpha - something that's made him break his mask out of pure, unadulterated joy.

Goodwitch eyes the young man on the screen speculatively, listening to the peals of Ozpin's laughter with a sort of unnerved curiosity.

* * *

 _The cold surges forth!_

Jaune kicks, hearing the tell-tale boom of the sound-barrier being shattered to pathetic little pieces at his feet. Weightlessness, and then...

 _Longer limbs. Claws. What he is. What he was. What he will be. They all smush together into an ugly yet beautiful mess. His perception contorts, compressing upon themselves as the trees flatten themselves to his eyes, as the Sun dims, the sky greys._

 _All except for the Alpha. He traces its features with his eyes, all the time in the world compressed to the speed of a single thought. Flashing teeth. Hulking bulk. He sees it all - from the pitched contours of the bony plate it wears on its chest, to the gleaming claws over dozens of human lifetimes old._

 _Ancient armor shatters. Ancient flesh quivers as it is savaged. His claws are sharper than sharp, his hide tougher than tough. This is paltry. This Grimm was a fool to challenge him. He closes his eyes. Blood in the air._

He opens them. The smell of ozone is in the air, and he's lying on a huge body of ebon. He looks up, seeing a savaged throat and dull crimson eyes. Already, the Grimm is decomposing into the tell-tale smoke of its kind. There it is once more, that bloody triumph arcing through his spine. Like kisses with Jeanne, like peaceful walks in the moonlight, like a nice cool banana sundae in the summer Sun.

The coldness in his chest dies down, and he just lets it go.

He's much too tired. Why not enjoy this high while it lasts? It's all he has now, anyway. He's failed, anyway. No matter that he's killed an Alpha and its pack. He's exhausted, what feels like every cell in his body lacking in energy. He couldn't fight a toddler in his state, much less any sort of Grimm. He has to face it eventually, so why not now? He's failed.

But damn does he feel heavy. Everything from his body to his legs to his eyelids.

And so Jaune sleeps atop that Grimm, still feeling the tingles of his victory emanating through him, a bitter expression on his face.

 _I'm sorry, Jeanne._

* * *

 **AN**

 **To people asking about some of my other stories: they're on hiatus, currently. I wanted to focus on this one for a bit, seeing as I find it easier to write compared to the others.**

 **Anyway, leave a review - was this chapter awful, great, mediocre? Why so?**


	7. Chapter 7

He wakes up to blinding light.

The first action he takes is to turn over, mumbling incoherently and bringing his hands over to his eyes. Memories come to him in flashes. Beacon - initiation - the Alpha - the power he wielded during the fight. His breath slows, so much so that he could be confused dead by an outside observer.

It feels like a while yet before he sits up in the bed. It all feels so - so fantastical. But it was _real_ , horribly, terribly real. From his duel with the Alpha, to his descent into unconsciousness.

…

Perhaps he should be happy to be alive - to survive an ordeal like the one he's been faced with, virtually unscathed. Perhaps it's miraculous. But even knowing that, it's hard to be appreciative of it all when in the end he's failed.

His family, proven right about his worth. Jeanne, alone.

It all tastes so bitter. Defeat has never been so soul-crushing effusive as it has right now, perhaps because this time he felt he had a chance. Perhaps because he has something to lose.

Jeanne...will she be alright without him? No...that's a stupid question to ask. She'll be fine without him, make friends with her team, be popular, respected, maybe even…

No. The thought is too painful to even consider. He grips his sheets harder, so much so that he feels like the fabric is going to tear with every passing second.

All of the time studying their fighting styles, dissecting every facet - from the way they breathed, to the way they moved. Mountains of notes, thousands of hours. Jeanne had inherited their family's techniques by being bequeathed them, and he by stealing them. And it was all for naught.

A study in contrasts, he thinks. Two twins. A boy and a girl. A pride and a shame. A success and a failure. The sun, shining every brighter and bringing life; the moon, shattered, and fit for nothing but reflecting the sun's light.

It's almost funny, if it wasn't so damned sad.

"Mr. Arc."

The voice startles him from his reverie, though he doesn't let it show - simply rolling his shoulders and turning his forlorn gaze from the floor to the doorway to the room he's in (the infirmary, he guesses).

"Headmaster Ozpin." He tries to inject inflection into his voice, tries to make himself care enough to stand and shake his hand or something - just any gesture of respect. But all of the propriety in his body has left along with all other feelings. It's as if he's witnessing everything through a puddle - his vision blurs and shifts from one indeterminable blob to another. He can't care enough to look at things past their surface level. If he could encapsulate his current state of being into a single word, it would be 'drained'.

But Ozpin is a whole different story. There's a cheerful air with the man - an upwards quirk of his lips, a twinkle in his eyes, a little secret that's known to him and only to him.

"I see that you're awake now. Good, good. The team assignments shan't be long. In fact-,"

Jaune watches, partly in bewilderment, partly in apathy, as the strangely jovial man pulls out his scroll, glancing at the time.

"Ah. Good heavens!" He exclaims, never dropping the slight smile on his face. "Would you look at the time?" He turns around, slapping the door open all the way with a slap of his cane. Turning to look at Jaune, he gives the boy a wink. "Come along now!"

And then he walks back out.

Lightly resentful of the headmaster's strange mood, Jaune can do nothing but follow along, skidding his feet every-so-often on the floor, and weaving a beat with the sound of his sneakers screeching past stone and marble.

* * *

They're back in the auditorium before he knows it, time slipping by like sand past his weakened grasp. He looks around with still bleary eyes, noticing the people sitting on the chairs that surround the raised platform, they don't look like Huntsman - well, some do. Most look like civilians and reporters.. On the platform is Ms. Goodwitch saying something that he doesn't care enough to pay attention to.

In front of him, Ozpin slips past the people surrounding the stage, experly weaving past the crowd with a fluid grace that seems entirely unintentional. Somehow, no-one creates a fuss about the enigmatic headmaster walking among them. The man looks behind him, and seeing that Jaune ceased following him, beckons him forward, stopping to wait for him.

Jaune hesitates, and then shrugging, he moves forward - thought with not nearly as much grace, bumping into people and giving them quarter-hearted platitudes. Once he rejoins the headmaster, the other man nods his in approval and continues on with him in tow, to the stage.

Perhaps if he had been in any state of mind, he would have been more nervous of the fact that he would be atop the stage. But he's numb to it all, so he just passively follows the headmaster, up the stairs that lead to the top of the stage, all the way to the back, where the crowd can hardly see.

A jolt goes through him - indescribable in its texture, unimaginable in in the way it covers him. He jumps just a little. Momentarily broken from his stupor, Jaune spins his head 'round to the cause.

It's Ozpin, perhaps a little less jovial, perhaps a little more firm, stronger in stance. A raised brow prompts a small smile. Ozpin nods, once - quick, but not jerky, gaze flicking over to some direction. Following the headmaster's gaze, Jaune feels like he's sinking.

It's Jeanne, talking to the red-haired celebrity they met in the locker-room - Pyrrha, he thinks her name goes - and Nora.

He steps forward, then back, then forward again. What does he say? What does he does he do? He wants to run from this place, from his shame. Because disappointing her would be too painful to bear. Her, who he holds above all else. Her, who he wants to impress above all else.

He gulps, and steps forward. Again. Again. And again. With every step forward, the world grows smaller; other people are blotted out by her radiance. He breathes in, and all he smells is her.

For a second, he wants to run over there and kiss her - in front of all of these people. Damn the consequences. And then she looks over to him, blue eyes lighting with so much genuine joy that it seems butterflies fluttering in his stomach, shivers up his spine.

Her lips move - he thinks she might have said 'Jaune!' but he's too busy being hugged to death to make sure. She babbles something against his ear, saying things about Nevermores and Deathstalkers and a thousand other things that are washed away by the sound of her voice.

He sags against her, closing his eyes and just holding her tight. He uncoils in that manner, in her arms, the tension leaving him with one last exhalation.

She breaks the hug, and he barely resists the temptation to pull her back into it. Blue eyes look at him imploringly, and her lips are puffed up in an adorable pout. His breath catches, and his cheeks burn.

"Where were you?"

The question is whispered, and with no small amount of concern. He guesses that he must have looked surprised, because she turns away, a faintly embarrassed dusting of pink in her cheeks.

"I was worried."

His heart clenches. And he almost breaks then and there, almost tells her of the Alpha, and his power. But no, that's not a discussion for a time such as this. This is supposed to be a happy time. So he just shakes his head, and whispers back:

"Later."

Jeanne looks like she's going to protest for a second, but then thinks better of it - simply giving him a nod, lips pressed into a tight line. He knows that she won't forget this, she'll confront him about later.

"Awwwww!" A familiar voice calls out, loud enough that he feels like the crowd itself could hear it. Nora's been watching them this whole time, a happy smile on her face. Beside her is Pyrrha and Lie Ren.

"That was such a sweet sibling moment!" She squeals, jumping up and down, pointing at them with obvious delight. Pyrrha and Ren looked exasperated by her, but also similarly touched by their interaction.

Everything's silent for a second.

Jeanne leans into him, giggling into his neck. The absurdity of the moment catches up with him too, and he leans into her as well, falling into guffawks - stitches on his side as tears fall from his eyes.

When they've calmed themselves, Nora, Pyrrha and Ren are looking at them with equal amounts confusion and amusement.

At their question looks Jeanne waves her hand, about to say something-

And then the sound of Ozpin's voice drowns out what she was going to say.

"Will Cardin Winchester, Dove Bronzewing, Sky Lark, and Russel Thrush come to the front?."

He doesn't really pay attention to what the headmaster is saying after that, simply enjoying the feel of Jeanne's on him. He did hear the boys being congratulated and named CRDL (Cardinal).

"Will Ruby Rose, Weiss Schnee, Blake Belladonna, and Yang Xiao-Long come to the front?"

It's much the same as with team CRDL, except this time the four girls are named RWBY (Ruby).

"Will Jeanne Arc, Nora Valkyrie, Pyrrha Nikos, and Lie Ren come to the front?"

Jeanne looks at him with confusion for a second, noticing the fact that he doesn't seem to have any other people with him. Just as when she's about to voice the question, he shakes his head, simply shoving her lightly and gesturing to the stage.

Hesitating, she heads to the front with her team. The usual pleasantries. Congratulations, pride, blah, blah. They're named JNPR (Juniper).

He can't go back home after this time, he won't be able to take it. So he should probably get a job here, he's strong enough for any job that requires manual labour, so he could probably wrangle a job in the docks…

"Those are all the teams this year-"

Maybe a clerical position instead, a receptionist? No, he's not nearly charismatic enough for that…

"-that being said. There were some particularly talented students that unfortunately didn't manage to pass through initiation-"

For lodgings - a hotel, not to expensive, but not a pigsty either…

"-one in particular has shown exemplary talents, that in all my years of serving as Beacon's headmaster, have trouble not being impressed by. In fact, talking about it may not give you a good idea of his potential."

The sound of roaring - familiar in a way that makes adrenaline burst and weave through his veins. He's back in the forest, fighting for his life with a beast that should be far beyond him -

Wait, no. He's in the Beacon auditorium, he looks up, to the screen that dominates most of the upper portion of the room. He sees himself, desperate and determined in equal measure, face carved from stone.

The screen shows his battle with the Beowulves, how he takes them down, and then his duel with the Alpha, how he rips its head from its body. He looks different in the screen, fierce and strong.

There's a buzzing in his ear - and he realizes a moment later that its cheering, people in the crowd are hollering up at the screen, angling their scrolls towards it and recording it on their devices. He sees CRDL, RWBY, and JNPR giving him shocked looks, Jeanne looking most shocked of all.

He almost doesn't see Ozpin beckon for him, he follows the subtle command absentmindedly. Looking out at the crowd with a dazed expression as he stand on the front with Ozpin.

"I think," he starts, somehow managing to be heard over the din of people shouting over each other. "That we are in agreement that we simply cannot let such talent go to waste. It would be a travesty, and against our best interest as a race to deny ourselves such a protector!"

The crowd roars its approval.

"Which is why…" He's not looking at the crowd anymore, instead turning to face him, and looking deeply into his eyes. Hazel meeting blue.

"I intend to take him as my apprentice!"

What.

* * *

 **AN**

 **The plot thickens! Just what is Ozpin's game? And what exactly is so special about Jaune? With this, Arc 1 has been completed. Remember to leave a review.**


	8. Chapter 8

The proclamation is barely registered before things start moving - rushing in a frenetic pace. He's brought to the front, to smile at painfully-bright cameras, and when that's done - he's swarmed by his fellow initiates - classmates, now.

Dumb shock and slight suspicion gives way to something brighter and more wholesome as he catches sight of Jeanne - looking shocked but so genuinely happy that he can't help but smile back. She's onto him as soon as he rejoins the group, a blur of gold crashing into his arms.

He's swarmed again - this time by his peers, their awe, their jealousy. It all feels so foreign to him - he used to be the bottom of the barrel, the one that nobody liked, now people look at him with hope. It's...strange, and he adores the weight of expectation on his shoulders as much as he despises it.

Their well-wishes and cloaked-jealousies suddenly stop, then - and he looks behind him, to where their gazes are now locked. It's the headmaster, Ms. Goodwitch at his side - looking slightly frazzled. Her gaze is locked onto him, a barely-noticeable frown of befuddlement on her face. Jaune's fellows straighten their postures, looking upwards and doing their best to seem like the protectors of humanity that they're training to be.

It's almost as if Ozpin doesn't see them. His eyes are locked onto Jaune, the staccato beat of his ever-present cane growing ever louder to the boy's ears. The sound is ominous somehow, and the gleam in the man's eyes even more so. Jaune rocks on the balls of his feet, torn between being weary and being grateful.

"Mr. Arc?"

"Yes, headmaster?" He responds, almost immediately, hating the fact that Jeanne separates herself from him for the sake propriety.

"I'd like to speak with you, now."

Not entirely unexpected - considering the man himself has taken him as an apprentice, but the fact that such an important figure would be talking with him did nothing to lessen the sudden feeling of being dropped tingling in his stomach. He nods, in spite of the sudden bout of nervousness - and follows the man as he descends from the platform. Leaving Ms. Goodwitch behind with the rest of the students. Jaune sends what he hopes is a relieving smile at a visibly concerned Jeanne on the way out.

Once again, the crowd does not seem to be reacting all that blatantly to Ozpin - the first time, he had been too wrought with his perceived failure to really question it, but now…

It had to be a Semblance of sorts. One that probably extended to him, he muses, as he notices the lack of reaction of anybody as he passes by them - he's not exactly sure how to feel about that, being under one of the headmaster's abilities. He supposes that he should be grateful of the protection (Brothers know that he wasn't really sure about how to deal with his new-found popularity) but it keeps him on guard, the realization.

After all, if the ability could be benevolent - then doesn't reason suggest that it could be the exact opposite, as well?

Regardless of his conflict regarding the headmaster's actions and intent, they soon reach the entrance of the auditorium - the sudden headmaster's stop startles him a little, the man raises a brow as Jaune impulsively gropes at his waist for a sword that isn't there, an embarrassed and mumbled apology is what he gets.

Ozpin smiles. Jaune has a feeling that the man doesn't do it often - which makes the gesture all the weirder.

"Jumpy, are you?" The huntsman in training is already apologizing, before Ozpin continues speaking. "Don't be sorry, it's a good trait - keeps one alive."

Ozpin's smile gains a tinge of melancholy at that, just a sad little downturn around the edges of his lips. Jaune wonders, a little bemused, a little frustrated - if the man's every move is intended to confuse.

And then before Jaune can further explore that line of thought - Ozpin nods towards him and keeps walking in a random direction. The grass is green, the sky blue and tinged with little specks of warm orange. The Sun is already well past its arc (heh) and the pre-evening chill is pleasant.

He pauses on a step, doing nothing but breathing as he takes in how beautifully the arches and columns of the academy meshes with the immaculate gardens. The sight sends tingles of content writing across the surface of his skin - deeper still, reaching the lethargy he feels in his bones and turning them into something that is on the whole, more active. The desire to do something productive sparks inside him, but he stamps it down - for the moment.

He falls into step with Ozpin, head craning this way and that with lazy movements as they take a pleasant walk around campus.

"We're heading for my office." Ozpin says, answering the unasked question in the air. The headmasters nods towards a particularly tall spire - Beacon Tower - the structure is just behind the main school building. Straight, like an arrow, with only the pointed end and the crisp green glow that inspired the name of the academy, visible even in the evening light.

There are people periodically entering and exiting the building, but as along with the structure being the headmaster's office, it's also the location of the kingdom's CCT. Of course people would be wanting to contact any friends or family through there.

Regardless, there's a lot of people coming and going from the building proper. Thankfully, it's not such a large amount that they would need to waddle through, but there's definitely enough people for Jaune to be more comfortable with.

Ozpin continues on, and as Jaune expects, nobody recognizes him. He goes through the entrance without fuss, and the Jaune follows.

First impressions? As glamorous as the rest of the campus. Of course, the place isn't completely pristine - its open to the public, after all. But it's far and away from being even remotely filthy. There's a lift that takes people from the bottom floor and to the computers hooked up to the CCT.

Ozpin ignores it, and heads to a place someway behind a secretarial desk, the receptionist on duty, surprisingly enough, recognizes Ozpin's presence, giving the headmaster a nod of acknowledgement as he goes past here. She must not be under the effects of his Semblance. Returning it, the headmaster heads deeper into a corridor behind the her, Jaune following close by.

There are doors on both sides of the corridor, all marked with signs that inform the reader that only employees can enter. At the very end of the unadorned corridor is an elevator shaft. They get inside, and Jaune sees that there's only one button. An upwards facing arrow.

Ozpin presses it, and then they wait.

It's...not exactly awkward, per se. But the silence is definitely somewhat uncomfortable, at least for Jaune. He opens his mouth - to say something, anything really. But then closes it shut with a dull 'click', thinking better of it.

They spend a few seconds in silence like that - with Jaune looking at the ground, as if in askance. And Ozpin looking straight at the door, with that same half-smile to his lips. The only sound present is the annoyingly catchy elevator music.

It is with relief in his chest, that they finally exit the elevator. He's glad to leave the infernal elevator music behind at least.

Jaune looks around surreptitiously - raising a brow at the shifting gears twirling around inexorably on the ceiling. They cast ever-shifting shadows on the floor, shadows that even now, move hypnotically. Tearing his eyes from the sight, he surveys the rest of the room with interest. There's a sort of easy elegance in this place, modernism merging with classic Valean style.

As a native, he can sort of appreciate it. Though he's never been a history buff.

While Jaune's been examining the room, Ozpin's walked towards what seems to be his desk. It looks vaguely mechanical, and slightly strange. Like a strangely shaped scroll with legs. Jaune imagines that one could use it similarly to a scroll. The headmaster takes a seat behind the comfy looking chair behind the desk, made in a similar style.

"Don't mind the decor." Ozpin smiles. "I'm told I have eccentric tastes."

"No." Jaune shakes his head, waving off the man's apology. "It's fine."

The headmaster reclines in his chair, posture surprisingly lackadaisical, peering at him over his spectacles.

"Regardless." Ozpin smiles. "I don't think you're very interested in hearing about my taste in decor. You have questions, I presume?"

Jaune can't say that the prospect of having said questions answered doesn't interest him - but hadn't he been called here for a reason?

At his look, Ozpin waves a hand. "What I had in mind can wait, clarifying some things to you is the least I can do. You're my apprentice now, after all."

And isn't that the crux of the whole matter? _Apprentice_. He's the apprentice of _the_ headmaster of Beacon - quite a step up from being a no-name nobody, he thinks. Jaune inclines his head, lips thinning.

"Alright," he says, slowly, as he peers at the man in front of him carefully. "Why me?"

Ozpin hums, as if considering the question.

"The Alpha...do you know what you did to it? Or rather, what you used to beat it?"

At Jaune's immediate shake of the head, Ozpin nods - expecting nothing else really.

"Now, how did you feel when wielding the power you used?"

Now - that's an uncomfortable question if there ever was one. What exactly is he supposed to say to that? 'Oh yeah, I felt like I could rip somebody's limbs off and enjoy it' didn't seem like a very wise thing to say.

"Savage." Is what he decides on. At Ozpin's interested expression - he elaborates. "Powerful. Unstoppable. I know it's a dangerous thing to feel, especially when you're fighting for your life, but - I - I think I enjoyed it."

The room is silent for a second - and Jaune tries to assure himself with the fact that the headmaster is unlikely to strip his apprenticeship with him after going as far as to announce it in public, not for something as relatively small as this. But for all of his self-assurance, he still shifts his weight uneasily. Left foot. Right foot. And back again.

Ozpin's hand is on his chin, and his eyes are half-lidded. The man looks most lethargic at that, and for a second - Jaune is afraid that the man is going to fall asleep in a sudden bout of narcolepsy. And then suddenly he's not.

Posture straightening, Ozpin's instantly at attention, nodding his head to an unvoiced thought.

"I see." He mutters to himself. "That narrows things down by a fair bit - but there's still quite a lot of options…"

"Sir?" Jaune queries, curiosity piqued.

At the sound of his voice, Ozpin seems to remember himself.

"Just some half-formed assumptions." He says. "Nothing to concern yourself over."

Jaune nods his head hesitantly.

"Good," Ozpin says, leaning forward, apparently deciding the small matter settled. His fingers interlock, palms lightly touching as he visibly considers his next word. "That ability that you have, it is not a Semblance, no?"

Jaune almost hesitates in agreeing. It seems ludicrous, even now - because if not a Semblance, a byproduct of soul - of Aura, then what else? It's borderline fantastical, a new power not gained from a Semblance, but some other, undefinable and undiscovered source. And that's...that might be groundbreaking.

In the end, Jaune nods, fingers reflexively clenching.

"I was out of Aura," he says. "There's no way it could've been a Semblance."

There is no surprise in the man's eyes, but something else - something that has his lips twitching upwards in that same uncharacteristic cheer - that foreign joy.

"Yes." Ozpin nods. "Magic does not tend to sap at the soul."

* * *

 **AN**

 **Apologies for the uneventful chapter. It was mainly a way for me to get back into the swing of things after the short break I took. Later chapters are far more likely to have things of more substance.**

 **Remember to leave a review.**


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